


Heart of the Flame

by Ursa_Tyrannus



Series: Fire and Glass [3]
Category: MCSM, Minecraft Story Mode
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, Blood, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Feral Behavior, Fire, Found Family, Gore, Guns, House Fire TW, Magic, Medical Inaccuracies, PTSD, Parasites, Trauma, Violence, suffocation, sword fights
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27476425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ursa_Tyrannus/pseuds/Ursa_Tyrannus
Summary: After his close encounter with Fire Aspect, Radar is left with more than he bargained for: Healing wounds, a broken heart, and new fear-filled memories. As the days pass, tensions build within the Temple, and Radar realizes that his heroes don't know as much as he thought they did. There is far, far more to Fire Aspect than meets the eye- what they don't know could cost them their lives.Like the hero he is, Radar sets himself to the task of uncovering ancient secrets... and facing his fears.
Series: Fire and Glass [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1833853
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	1. From the Serpent's Tongue

**Author's Note:**

> Additional tags will be added with chapters! This has been many months in the making. I hope you enjoy.

After everything, Radar has every right to feel like a brave, strong warrior. He deserves that at  _ least _ , for going toe to toe against such an impossible foe, one who looked like she’d crawled straight from the pits of the Nether. Fire Aspect had grown so animalistic over the months, fitting accordingly with her endless emission of flame and spark in every moment. Moments of anger directly resulted in the sacrifice of the kind demeanor they’d grown used to. 

Days ago, Radar beat back her flames. He taught her a lesson. He defeated the Aspect of Fire. 

Today, he feels smaller than he ever has. 

Ivor had only just allowed him to start roaming the temple again, but Radar has little interest. He knows what he wants to know about his home. Ivor's lab feels like a safe haven as the rest of the temple feels too wide, too empty, filled with too many possibilities of danger around every corner. Radar can't stand it, hesitating when he navigates the long corridors. That was the first thing the others had noticed in him. 

Fire Aspect is gone. She's not here, she won't return for a very long time. It's a mantra, but no matter how many times Radar repeats it, he can't bring himself to believe it. 

Ivor is here in his lab, so intensely focused on old books and simmering potions, while Petra is out adventuring Gods-know-where. Radar has no idea what kind of conversation they'd had following  _ the incident,  _ has no way of knowing, but ghosts of their horror live within them, like a fresh scar that only Radar can see.

Well, maybe not just Radar. Lukas has been treating Ivor like he's sick. Axel, despite his utter love of fireworks, keeps the fiery displays far from Petra's line of sight. 

Despite all of Petra's attempts to give an air of coolness when they speak, doubt of her own words is the first thing Radar feels. There's the regret in her eyes when they're supposed to be shining, like when she hauls her latest black market score to the infirmary, exploring it with him. She shows off all sorts of odd baubles, holding them up to the light and telling their story with a mischievous smile. 

(Contrary to her belief, he  _ did  _ spot the enchanting books in her pack, pushed aside but left unlatched, exposing its contents. Three of their covers read ' _ fire aspect _ ' in Testificate scrawl.

Her new failsafes.) 

Ivor had proven far better at concealing regret. What  _ he _ fails to mask is shame, showing its face in everything he does for Radar, lurking in every smile and kind word. Breaking eye contact too early, limbs heavy with emotion, too much hesitation in their small talk. The shame is at its worst during treatment, Ivor's eyes dark and heavy as he replaces bandages, gingerly dabbing Radar's burns with healing ointment. 

The only time Ivor manages to mask it is when he starts spinning tales, and the wonder of stories takes over. He doesn't speak when tending to his injuries, to 'focus', but Radar knows better. 

They remember everything. 

In everything they do lies a hidden message beneath a fragile layer of kindness. Without saying it, they want him to know it, day in and day out. 

_ We love you so much. You're a hero. Please don't forget. You don't have to forgive us.  _

_ We're so fucking sorry.  _

In their own ways, they're practically babying him. It's fulfilling, but lately it's edged on feeling humiliating. 

Petra and Ivor aren't the only ones to be like that, at least not in their own ways. 

There's a brief knock at the lab door. Light, as if his visitor is worried about interrupting a meaningful moment or waking someone. Ivor mutters something bitterly before inviting their visitor inside. 

The door creaks. Lukas peeks in, blonde hair shining in the warm light of the room. His eyes light as he spots Radar. 

His presence draws Lukas through the doorway, revealing a plate of cake in one hand and a small stack of books tucked beneath his arm, a smile on Lukas's face pulling together the look of someone who's nothing but affable. 

Whether Lukas was aiming for the look or not, it wins Radar over. ( _ Stupid perfect Lukas,  _ Petra always said.) 

"Hey, bud." Lukas sets the plate down on Radar's bedside table, pulling up a chair and holding the books in his lap as he scoots closer. 

Ivor’s bed, tucked into the corner of the lab, is a nice change compared to the duller accommodations of the Infirmary, walls mostly white save for the few soulfire sconces. It's a change, specifically, that Ivor welcomed, offhandedly but warmly mentioning that someone might as well make use of his personal bed during the day. 

It's a contender for the comfiest bed in the temple, but they don't need to mention that. Ivor knows it, judging by how easy it is to fall asleep in. Radar can't recall the last time he slept so often (save for flu season). 

"I haven't seen you much out there, so I thought I'd grab you some breakfast." Lukas winks, nodding briefly at the cake. 

"Thanks, but I… I probably shouldn't be having cake for breakfast." Radar smiles nervously as he pushes up his glasses, one of the lenses still cracked. (Ivor’s planning on getting new ones tomorrow, lenses to be copied from what remains of them and Radar himself destined to remain home.)

He knows as well as Ivor that if Radar had a fear response to the hallways alone, he'd have to braven up and get adventurous again before venturing into the wide, open world of Beacontown. Besides, Beacontown means the presence of the public, thus the presence of journalists and overbearing fans who would be awfully curious as to why Radar looked like he'd just been in a fight with a bear. 

Ivor won't let them have that, won't let them use his grandson as bait for articles of conspiracy and the "secrets" that lurk behind temple doors. Their family, their fusion, their business. 

Radar’s only obligation is to heal up first and answer questions later. Still, Ivor seemed terribly curious about those glasses, swiping them away at odd hours for the reasoning of 'Examination'. 

Ivor was weird like that. A lack of glasses meant a lack of sight, which meant more limited options in occupying himself, but was another opportunity to nap ever something to complain about? 

"Well, that's fine." Lukas nudges him with an elbow, smiling. "Ice cream for lunch, then? Come on, what's the worst that could happen?" 

Radar returns a weak smile as feeling war just under his skin. 

The proud, angry part of him that defeated Fire Aspect is having none of the pity, is  _ indignant  _ in being treated like glass, like a small thing that needs to be protected and pampered- Yet the part of him that  _ is  _ small craves this sort of affection, craves the love and comfort that nearly everyone in the Order has showered him with since the incident, is gripping onto it for dear life. 

So he'll settle with ice cream for lunch. 

"Eh… why not?" Radar smiles back, genuinely this time, tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Leave it to Lukas to make him feel warm when he's at his coldest. 

Lukas switches out the cake plate in favor of the tomes, lighter than they look, setting them on the table with a soft  _ thud  _ as he stands. "I remember hearing you go on about old magic the other day, so I found what I could. This first one has a  _ really  _ cool study on phantoms." He pats the top of the stack with an open palm. 

_ As if he hasn't encountered phantoms enough already. _

Paperwork, more often than not, ensues long sleepless nights of phantoms scratching his window panes. It's nothing that can't be solved by shutting the blinds, but Radar won't say no to extra information either. He picks the first book from the stack, thanking Lukas as the worn cover flips open. 

Their writer, despite mixed messages, always has good intentions. Wouldn't he know what sleepless nights are like? To be lost in forests of ink scratchings and pits of crumpled paper? Even when Lukas pauses at the door, heart on his chest, he looks shaded beneath the eyes. Lucky for him that his voice is so good at concealing doubt, speaking warmth into the room where it’d slipped away through the door.

"You still need breakfast. We finished up a while ago, but how'd you like me to bring you something? There's plenty of leftovers." The obvious  _ 'as always'  _ is left up to assumption. 

Radar nods, uneasy with his appetite even as he agrees. It's weak unlike the others’, easy to scare away and constrict into an ache with growing dread, but the concern doesn't dismiss how delicious breakfast sounds right now. 

Risks aren't something that Radar is a fan of either, but good things take risks, big or small. 

"Alright, I'll be back in a hot minute." Lukas leaves the door a crack open as he slips out. 

The absence of company (at least, company not fully absorbed in alchemy) leaves a void easily filled by the books. Radar begins flipping through the one in his lap, pages brittle. Though the bulk of its pages are smooth, many have folded corners. Speckles and larger splotches of discolor smattered across the inside tells a story in itself. Images of adventurers hastily flipping through it, or old travelers folding in page corners with their calloused fingers, fill his mind.

It's a book he can easily envision Ivor keeping. So many years ago, when their alchemist was alone and boiling in spite, it would have been useful to have. To know every aspe… no, every trait of what he could come face-to-face with, not a soul there to protect him. It's no wonder, with all his scars and quick knee-jerk reactions, that he's as crafty as he is. Learning from old writings only enhances that, combining knowledge and skill in its best form. 

The notion is tucked away like a bookmark as the pages come to a close. Lukas returns, pushing the door open with his shoulder and closing it with his hip. He holds a plate in each hand, cake making its grand reappearance on one and the other stacked with sweet berries and scrambled eggs. 

The weathered book is hastily placed aside in time to make room for breakfast, Lukas setting the plate in Radar's lap the same way a waiter would. The eggs are still hot, heat seeping into the blanket from the bottom of the plate and warming his lap. 

Lukas sits down again, picking at the cake slice that was originally for Radar. There's just a bit of reprieve in his eyes as he offers an explanation, fork hanging in the air between lax fingers. 

"Mmph, tons of cake left too. You aren't missing out." 

Like before, Radar nods. Not much use in wasting good cake. Then, he digs into breakfast. The sweet berries are as sweet as can be, and the eggs are as invigorating as they are hot. 

Meals like this are healing. Humbling, warming from the inside and out. 

They may not be at the table, but it  _ feels  _ like they are. It's the familiarity of time spent with family, appreciated with or without words. It's a privilege to have a silent few moments, ones where they enjoy each other's company and eat in peace. Forks clink their plates every once in a while, just like at dinner. The ones Radar have been missing. 

Unlike dinner, this meal is quiet. There's a distinct lack of consistent chatter, members of the Order rattling on about their passions, debating or telling jokes with reckless abandon. It's… peaceful. At worst, Ivor coughs a bit loudly on the other side of the room. He mumbles something about crumbs on the bed, to which Radar rapidly checks for and is immediately relieved to find that there are none. 

(If he and Lukas’s places were switched, it would probably be a different story.)

Peace isn't without its problems. Like all things good, peace must always come to its unfortunate and somber end, or else it wouldn't be appreciated in the first place, the same way things are only valued when they're temporary. 

That _look_ flashes in Lukas's eyes for a brave moment. Testing the waters. 

Radar has a feeling what comes next. 

Lukas starts with a long sigh. Heavy breath in, heavy breath out as he drops the fork to his plate. 

"Radar, bud... What did she  _ do _ to you?" 

Warmth in his gut cools like iron, sinking, dropping to the pit of his stomach. Radar's gaze drops with the weight. Breakfast is suddenly the focal point of his attention. He's determined to examine every precise detail of his sweetberries. The signs of hungry insects on the holly's leaf, how this must have been a short berry season, because the berries closest to the stem aren't near as ripe as the dark juicy ones at the bottom- 

_ Dark and wet like her blood like her steaming blood-  _

Lukas picks up on it, the way Radar's jaw goes tight as he refuses to look up. "Ah- look, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything." Yet even as his words promise surrender, Lukas leans in quizzically. "But just  _ look  _ at all of this. Are these acid burns?" 

His finger twitches, motioning to Radar's throat. One dark, red splotch spreads from his chin to the side of his neck, space around the centerpiece decorated with smaller splotches and splatter-burns. 

Blood scalds. 

_ Dripping all over him while she gurgles and chokes, she's dying she's dying-  _

_ STOP IT.  _

They'd been healing exceptionally thanks to Ivor's treatments, but the marks are not yet gone. Not soon enough. 

Radar blinks away his welling tears. "Yeah. Kind of." His breath deepens, the ache of broken ribs radiating as his chest rises and falls. He's still recovering. So much blood. There shouldn't have been that much. There shouldn't have been  _ any _ blood. 

He doesn't want to cry. Crying would hurt, racking his already damaged body, but hitching breath is difficult to manage with a bruised lung. Not to mention how his head hurts, filled with pain, aching pain that rings in his skull ( _ pain that he doesn't want to remember). _

"Bud?" Lukas cocks his head so innocently. Like he has no idea.  _ He has no idea. _ "It's okay. We don't have to talk about it."

_ Stupid fucking perfect Lukas-  _ _ No no no don't curse calm down just calm down.  _

He and Lukas are one in the same. Both cowards at heart, both terrified of what the unknown and confrontation have in store for them, even when they shoot for it. It doesn't matter how damaged the rest of him is. Radar's voice is suddenly the most broken thing in the room. It's hard not to feel pitiful, not to feel like the Order's pathetic little intern, as the story spills like oil near a candle flame.

"She tried to kill me. I think she was- was going for my throat, but then I had the sword and…" 

Radar's hands toy with each other. A nervous twitch, but his fingers loosen, pulling away enough to place his index finger above the palm of his other hand, through the spaces between his fingers. 

The shape resembles a dark form, stabbed all the way through. Lukas can't feel what he feels, but maybe he will if he sees even a fragment of what happened in the arena. 

Lukas slouches. He looks down, blood draining from his face, as the mental image makes itself known in widened eyes.

"Dear  _ Gods. _ " 

Lukas has probably heard enough, but why stop now if he's already gone this far? Why not indulge memories that have been fighting to be spoken for days?

A bottle is placed with force across the room. 

“And she got impaled, dripping blood all over. It was…” The images of her blood coated teeth flash through his mind, joined by images of fire in her throat and burning liquid dripping onto him as the embers faded from her eyes. 

The lab is freezing. Just like the arena. The sheets are hard and cold, like the ground she’d pinned him against. 

“It wasn’t supposed to  _ be that way! _ ” 

And it wasn’t, he  _ swears  _ it wasn’t, he just- 

“Woah, woah- buddy, bring it down-” 

_ Why did he do that why would she forgive him for that why would Lukas forgive him why would anyone he’s just a murderer he just-  _

_ WHY DID YOU COME BACK? FOR REVENGE? I”M NOT GONNA LET YOU BULLY ME LIKE THIS ANYMORE-  _

_ She doesn’t love him or care about him he doesn’t deserve this place this family he’s just a tool he’s-  _

For a while, both forever and for less than a moment, voices are the only things that are real, that he can hear. Lukas is gone, as are Ivor and the lab, replaced by a void with the arena far below. An echo chamber. 

Overpowering the other voices is one more. A deeper, angrier deliverer of his own words: 

_ Aren’t you braver than this? Just get over it.  _

_ You’re so much better than this.  _

_ Coward.  _

It told him the same thing about the giant enderman, about the Warden and the Iron Breathtaker, about the Burrows and the Underneath and and- 

_ She was your family and you  _ **_murdered her._ **

The voice knows him inside and out. Knows his weakest points. It knows what he doesn’t want anyone else to know, holding the restraints of his fear just out of reach like a toy from a child. It knows, too, that he can’t run from this forever. 

It’s hard to run away from something that lives in you. 

It wants him to think he’ll never escape. 

If becoming Prison Radar was any learning experience, it was a quick way to learn that the  _ voice  _ won’t shut up even if he puts on a fresh new coat of feigned confidence and toughness. 

_ Fucking coward fucking coward can’t stomach your own atrocities-  _

It loves to remind him. 

Some voices stand a better chance at winning the fight to be heard, and he knows a certain excitable alchemist who’s more likely to win out. Maybe a certain writer, too, if angered sufficiently. 

He’s lucky to have them. 

Ivor and Lukas are by his side, saying his name over and over, when Radar realizes he’s now on the floor. In the middle of the lab. Lukas’s chair is knocked over, blankets strewn over it like they’d been thrown, and shards of a plate aren’t far from it. Bits of food accordingly fill the spaces between pieces of ceramic, some crumbs landing farther than others. 

However loud his family is, their voices are distant and murky as Radar absorbs the scene. His hand moves. Ivor takes it. Lukas stands to clean up the mess  _ he  _ made, gathering the bone-like fragments one at a time. 

Ivor’s voice becomes something of a mantra as they watch the ritual. Radar realizes, with the pressure at his side and the warm inky hair brushing against his cheek, that he’s being hugged. 

When Lukas is no longer in sight, they rock back and forth together. One of them is crying. Radar isn’t sure who. 

That night, Ivor gives him new anxiety meds. Ever still, none of them are forgetting  _ that _ anytime soon. 

Radar doesn’t talk about it again. He doubts that there’s any kind of need. 

* * *

For what feels like hours, Radar drifts in and out of sleep. Only so much rest can be had before it becomes overbearing, like when his legs become sore with the urge to run and rush about, or when his fingers won’t stop twitching with the desire for something to be in them. Maybe a pen to sign documents, or a book to flip through. 

Stir-craziness isn’t something he’s used to. Not in the slightest, but it’s something that comes with the recovery process and its various other complications. Not to mention he’d rather be here anyway, under safe blankets, than out there in the dark hallways of the Temple where ill-cast shadows serve as a reminder of  _ her.  _

Fear is luckily subjective. His corner of the infirmary is just as dark, if not darker.

Routinely, the soft soulfire lamps of the infirmary had been smothered hours ago. Light seeps in from the unshut infirmary door, as bright as the various glows of Ivor’s lab. 

Radar fights to keep his eyes closed- opening them risks his attention being caught like a fish on a hook and inevitably pulling him out of rest, but he’s willing to admit the risk is low. There’s not enough pride nor courage to reach for his glasses on the nightstand, especially when the blankets are softer and warmer than the infirmary air, comfier than the bedding in his office. It’s hard to be distracted when the world around him, already dark, blends into all sorts of intangible fuzzy shapes. 

His mind dwindles in half-dreams. Something about plans to get better bedding, and responsibilities of Beacontown matters, until comforting silence is obscured by a faint noise that rises above the lull of Ivor’s lab. 

The lab door hinges groan. Dragging footsteps immediately follow. 

Petra. It’s easy to envision how disheveled she must look as she mumbles, not even bothering with pleasantries. 

Radar may be blind as he rests, but his ears are in full working condition. Can they blame him for eavesdropping when there are so few things keeping him busy, so many reasons to stay awake and take in words not belonging to him? 

No matter how soft, their voices are too distinct within the lab’s endless hum of brewing stands and bubbling cauldrons. 

“Hey, Ivor?” 

“Hm?” The alchemist isn’t much louder, chair squeaking as he turns to face her. 

“Do you think… like, with Aspect, do you think part of why she’s  _ different  _ is because I-” 

_ Oh.  _

Those words tug at him, pulling him from the edge of actual sleep and right back into the waking world. The fog of near-sleep is the only buffer between  _ her _ mention and Radar’s blood running cold. 

“Don’t you dare finish that!” Ivor hisses, likely trying not to disturb the sleep of his patient. Too late. “No, I don’t think that. Not at all.” 

Petra warns Ivor with a sigh. She doesn’t believe him, and she’s got a whole lot more to say about  _ that  _ matter. Usual Petra. Radar’s as still as a board as he waits for what inevitably comes next. 

“Fuck, why else would she be like this now? Why are  _ we  _ like this now?” 

Mhm. 

So maybe they  _ have  _ been a little tense lately. It'd been easy to figure that their edginess was born of frustration, at themselves and what they had done to him indirectly, but the idea that something more is at play? 

Food for tired thought. More than dinner was, at least. 

"You'd better stop that talk  _ this instant.  _ She's made of us, but that doesn't mean she  _ is  _ us." Ivor's chair squeaks again as he leans back, turning to look away judging by his tone of voice. "Not anymore." 

Petra's shadow passes through the doorway light. Panic wells in Radar until the light makes its full return a brief second later. 

"But- I'm just... why is she so  _ awful _ now?" 

Petra isn’t the only one asking. 

"Being honest, I couldn't tell you the truth; I don't know it. There may not be a reason at all, but I know one thing for certain: Power gets to a person's head after so much time. Fire Aspect is not exempt from that."

"...Neither are we. The other- the other fusions aren't like this, Ivor. It's not like she’s the most powerful."

Debatable. Their own boasting, from before things went so rotten, come to mind. Ivor was so keen to brag about how even  _ he  _ was impressed with her strength and tenacity, and wouldn't want to be pitted up against them, while Petra claimed the fusion was ‘almost as good as her’ when it came to swordsmanship. 

Wasn’t that something?

"She's certainly the most greedy."

There’s a laugh burrowed away in his throat, but it makes no appearance. 

  
  


"Right? And okay, fine, she's her own person and whatever, but that's still not a good person. You can't act like we don't have anything to do with it. Like I don't. Maybe we need to go on more adventures? Or travel more? Or maybe I just need to-" 

Her voice rushes, carrying desperation as possibilities and solutions come to mind. Ivor cuts in just as sternly as before. 

"Stop thinking like that? You can't live every moment blaming yourself for her actions, she's-" 

It’s a challenge. Words as her weapon, Petra finds an opening and strikes. 

"She's made of US! That still  _ means  _ something and- and I'm not gonna sit back and ignore it like  _ you  _ are." Another shadow passes through the door, born of an accusing gesture towards the infirmary. "How long until another  _ Radar  _ happens, huh?"

Silently, the lab boils. A hard  _ slam  _ on Ivor’s desk warns of the room’s tension spilling over. 

His turn to be a hero. Again. 

Radar folds his blankets aside. The chill doesn’t faze him, not when the next room is threatening to boil over with hostility. 

It’s not because Petra’s right, or that Ivor’s wrong. It’s not even anger, really. Radar recognizes the feelings they show for what they are, something he experienced not too long ago. 

Fear. What answers do they have, other than speculation? How far will justice take them? Is there even a point in trying to ‘fix’ her? Fix themselves? 

They don’t know. They haven’t known from the start, no matter how much they try to act like it, tell him they’ve got it under control. They’re just like him, when he promised Olivia he’d make sure Fire Aspect wouldn’t pull anything stupid. 

Like hell he was capable of putting her in line. 

He was lucky, but Petra’s got a point. How long until someone far, far less lucky than him is preyed upon? 

They  _ don’t know.  _ They didn’t know then, they certainly don’t know now. 

That same fear bleeds from them when he leans against the doorway into the light, looking their blurry forms up and down with bleary eyes. Just like that, their heads turn. Serpents of anger hold back hot venom, slithering back into the crevices of which they emerged from. 

What remains is the husk of a conversation. 

Petra’s quick to blame. “See, look what you-” 

“ _ Enough.”  _ Ivor stands up, back straight and shoulders squared. “We will discuss this… later. Both of you are to return to bed.  _ Now.”  _

Petra’s steps are light, but the door slams behind her.

Ivor doesn’t wait to see Radar recede into the shadows of the infirmary. He slumps instead, limbs loose as he rubs his temples. 

A few beats pass. Ivor deeply sighs as Radar fails to obey orders, torn between comforting the man and simply watching the existential dread seep into the room. He won’t be given the chance to see such a thing. 

“Bed.  _ Now. _ ” 

The infirmary is still cold. Its sheets don’t hold warmth nearly as well as they did a few minutes ago. 

Ten minutes later, the lab lights grow darker than Radar’s ever seen. 

_ They don’t know.  _ And if they don’t know, where does that leave the Order? Where does that leave Fire Aspect? 

( _ Where does that leave their intern? _ )

Some heroes. 

* * *

The darkness of this place is all-consuming. It holds no shape, no corners or curves, no beginnings or ends. Yet there are shapes _within_ the darkness. Most aren’t quite _there_ , riding on the fine line between solid and shapeless, but their presence fills the darkness like an audience of ghosts. Distantly, a strange white mist rises from the ground. 

He hates the dark. 

There are a few more things here. More solid, tangible things, like the tar in the floor that sticks to Radar’s shoes, squelching as he twists his foot. 

Other things take shape. The figure towering over him is the only thing with disconcernable corners and other solid pieces to its frame. A box, barely off-color from the room’s infinite blackness, squared and distinct with its rough wooden texture and the metal bars lining it’s front. 

Metal bars. Its not a box. It's a  _ cage.  _

The contour of a large, living being shuffles restlessly within. It whines something pathetic as it turns, opens its mouth to dully gnaw at the cage bars with wolfish teeth. 

A  _ laugh  _ rings out _.  _ A deep, smug sound with no direct source echoing through the darkness. 

“ **_Look at what you’ve been reduced to._ ** ” 

His lips are frozen stiff. The beast’s mouth seals in a snarl, eyes glowing orange through the bars. 

She’s peering right into him. 

_ Fire Aspect.  _

“ **_You’ve done this to yourself… become nothing more than just another wretched monster._ ** ” 

Radar sorts through every voice that ever wronged him- Stella, the Admin, the Warden, so many others -Every one of them matches this one, with a new level of suffocated horror he realizes that the voice matches his own. 

It matches  _ Fire Aspect’s _ too. 

Without his concession, Radar’s legs move. He paces at the mouth of the cage, hands neatly held behind his back. 

_ Like the Warden like the Warden why why why-  _ His mind screams louder, but no matter how desperately those words want to be heard, Radar’s vocal cords won’t comply.

Walking feels like wading through some kind of poisonous ichor, legs stinging. Radar approaches the cage until his face is just inches from the bars that Fire Aspect chew on. They drip with hot saliva. Her breath is rank on his face, huffing as she grunts and growls like some kind of animal. 

“ **_Tell me... Is there even a shred of humanity left in you?_ ** ”

Fire Aspect stills. 

Her jaws release the metal bar, but don’t come to a close. Instead her lip raises, snarling at him. Snarling at her captor, growing louder. 

Radar knows fear when he sees it. When the Order members talk about the things they’ve been through, their eyes pool with it. Though Fire Aspect’s are glowing with no presence of pupils or irises, her brow still falters. 

Those eyes glow with the terror of a dying flame. 

_ Like Some kind of desperate, terrified, wounded animal.  _

Gripped with clammy palms, a weight rests in Radar’s hands. A heavy, curve-tipped dagger with a leathery hilt. His grip is seamless, knuckles as white as the mist. In his other hand is a torch. Firelight reflects on spit-soaked bars, the others dull and dry. It reflects too in Aspect's hair, more mussed and filthy than he's ever seen it. 

“ **_Are you afraid of me? We aren’t so different. We’re STARVING._ ** _ ” _

He doesn't feel hungry. Nausea squirms at his core like some kind of parasite, one with plenty of room; This hellscape tears at him from the inside, pulling up anger and fear like a weed and leaving him hollow like cracks in dry earth. 

Fire Aspect offers no answers. She huffs instead, ending her bout of snarls with a snort of heavy breath before slowly turning, struggling just as before within the cage’s cramped space. 

Fire Aspect slinks through the darkness like a tiger. She bares beastly stripes all over, darker patches of flammable callous curing around her body and limbs like thick vines on an old tree. Now, new stripes cross over the ones he’s familiar with, deeply red and glistening in the warm light. Radar’s gaze follows the dark rivers upstream, to her back. 

What Radar sees next smothers his internal screaming into dead silence. 

Dagger upon dagger is jammed into her back. A forest of knives, some pushed into her at an angle, all producing wounds that gush profusely. The part of him that isn’t her captor, who’s so much smaller than her and wants nothing more than to curl into his light like the protective shield it is from the darkness, has images of his wrongdoing desperately flashing through his mind. Fire Aspect hunches, her back like the hills of frozen lands dotted with jagged ice spikes. 

_ These _ spikes are wells of blood. The knives shudder with every step like the quills of a Hoglin.   
  
_ Dear Gods.  _

Her wounds drip,  _ pitpatpit, _ as Fire Aspect crawls. Blood pools from the cage. It's with another off beat of his heart that Radar realizes the ichor underfoot  _ is  _ blood. She moves to the far end of the cage, slumping onto the ground and folding her arms to rest her chin on. The beast glares at him knowingly. 

Then comes the worst part. 

Of all the feelings fighting within his body and mind, one pushes past the others with the authority of a leader.

_ Satisfaction.  _ Pride in his work. 

“ **_What's wrong with you?_ ** ”

“It wasn’t-” Finally his voice breaks the threshold in a desperate plea. He wants to plead innocence, claim that this horror wasn't undertaken by his hand, but how can he? How can he when he's free and she's locked in, when he holds yet another blade that matches the ones pushed into her like needles to a pincushion?

“No! NO! I DIDN’T WANT THIS!” 

Radar's light disappears. A punishment. The dagger in his hand is gone, too, and in that instant fire aspect howls out in pain, stripes igniting. The dagger, now in her chest, glints with the flames flaring around it. 

“ **_Radar?_ ** ” 

“N- no! NO! NO!”

Ichor clings to his feet as he tries to turn and run. He accomplishes little more than tripping, falling onto his shoulder. Ichor creeps up his skin like a hoard of hungry leeches. Consuming him.  _ It stings.  _

_ I WANT OUT I WANT OUT I WANT OUT I WANT OUT I WANT OUT I WANT OUT-  _

“ **_RADAR!_ ** ”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” Radar begs to nothing as he tries to wipe the blackness from his skin. It sticks to anything it touches, clinging to his fingers with a tingling sensation. Whatever plans he had to wipe away welling tears are destroyed in that instant. 

Defeated by the darkness and blood, the boy curls up. He submits to the racking of his own panic that just so happen to be teaming up with the ichor, filling his hollow core with something so much worse. 

_ Coward.  _

He cries harder. 

**_“RADAR! RADAR! WAKE UP!_ ** ”

The voice booms louder and louder like thunder on an endless sea. It envelops him just like the ichor, dragging and blinding- 

Until his eyes fly open. 

The ichor is nothing but sweat and tears stubbornly clinging to his body under too-hot blankets, feeling more scratchy than soft as Radar pulls his head above the drowning nightmare for a straining gasp.

Beneath him now, the nightmare fades. All that's left is Petra, in the infirmary with him, his shoulder gripped tightly in her hand. Ivor stands not far behind her, gripping the knob of the infirmary door tightly. 

The looks they both wear are nothing but sallow. 

(He's not entirely sure which of his problems drowns their images into obscurity; Lack of glasses, or tears distorting the infirmary in a glossy mess? Maybe both.) 

"Radar? Hey- look at me. You're okay. You're safe." He’s never heard Petra speak so  _ softly  _ before. “Just a nightmare.” 

He can’t begin to thank them, nor explain his nightmare or stutter some kind of apology (They shouldn’t have to deal with  _ this  _ anymore, not after what he’d done to them, to  _ Fire Aspect _ ), because his voice shatters like glass as the words to form.

“I’m  _ sorry- _ ”   
  


He would have collapsed helplessly, if not for Petra snatching and pulling him into her chest just in time for the worst of the sobs to hit. She pulls him up, the weight of her chin resting on his head as he digs his nose into the crook of her neck.

Ivor allows the door to close, slinking over with soundless steps to sit on the edge of Radar’s bed. He watches, lap occupied by neatly folded hands. 

"Here, c'mere. Hang on Ray-Ray. It's alright." 

The use of such a special nickname probably wasn’t supposed to make him cry harder- quite the opposite, really -but it does anyway. It’s a battle between sobs and shaking breaths in his chest, each throbbing with pain in their own way. Her hand slowly moving up and down the ridge of his back brings relief. 

Soon enough, its joined by another colder hand rubbing circles into his shoulder. 

They deserve so much better than him. 

* * *

Radar’s a planner. He’s always been a planner, always been the one to perfectly place and schedule and shift all the ‘official’ pieces of the Order’s life, openly praised and respected for it by the others. Even when plans get screwed up, if it’s not Jesse cleaning up the mess, it’s  _ him  _ making sure everything gets tied up properly. 

This time is different. Now it’s his turn to put a plan into action and exacting it, with little help from the others, let alone input. He’s done it plenty before, planning on the fly when something’s happened to be misplaced or timed wrong, but it’s different when the situation is truly unpredictable, running on no schedule and a shadow of intention. 

It's different when he’s dealing with  _ fusions.  _ It’s especially different when he has, in fact, been advised  _ against _ exacting his plans by the others, both in the past and present, involving fusions. 

Glaring as she is,  _ She _ isn’t the only one in his life. He’s spent too much time thinking of the others in light of trying to avoid thinking of  _ her. _

The echoes fade with the passing days, just like his healing body, but the damage is still there. 

That brings him to now. 

He wouldn’t be doing this if it were  _ her _ \- he doesn’t dare to think her name now. Since the arena, it’s only ever invited trouble, like sudden flooding images of furious flame and gnashing teeth. 

This fusion is different, right? 

Ivor had vented to him, earlier that afternoon, frustration about misplacing one of his older books during his move into the Temple. That had been years ago now. He hadn’t a clue where it had gone... (and Radar remembered, as it was said, how Soren always bugged Ivor for his difficulty with proper organization, but that was when Ivor was at his lowest, the most disheveled and desperate than he’d ever been.). Ivor mentioned the need to incite one of their ‘More Knowledgeable’ fusions to find it. Or better yet, use their most uncannily knowledgeable fusion to tap into the information that he needed about whatever potion or rare ingredient was escaping him. 

Like in Petra’s training, Radar saw an opening. Some kind of answer to their looming mystery, locked in another fusion. 

He decided, not long after that, to strike, worrying his opening would close too soon. 

An all-knowing being was something too good to pass up, all recent events and mysteries considered. It wasn’t like Ivor could ask the fusion himself...

The attic is rarely ever visited, feeling less like an attic and more like a forgotten dungeon of the Temple. The last time he was there, it was with Axel, looking for some things he remembered salvaging from the wreckage of the old treehouse. Even then, they hadn’t stayed long. The ceiling, slanted and jagged like a cave, felt like it was closing in on them, attic nearly as dark as the basement when it was night, when there was no more light left to flood through the stained-glass model of the Amulet on the west wall. 

His time is limited at best. 

This time, it’s sunset. There’s at least the promise of light, but Radar doesn’t want to raise his hopes or expectations too much. 

  
After all, Ivor  _ could  _ just be going in on his own. That’s what it looks like, where Radar is spying on him, kneeling behind a neglected crate near the attic stairwell. Ivor waits, glancing around and tapping his foot, before unexpectedly disappearing into the darkness of the stairwell. 

Radar waits-  _ One. Two. Three. Four. One nether core. Two nether core. Three nether core. Four nether core. - _ Before following, steps quick and fleeting up the old stone bricks. The darkness of the stairwell is tight, nerve-racking with its countless cobwebs to avoid. Even the handrail, desperately in need of polishing, is claimed by the work of long-dead spiders. 

Radar settles for balancing himself without them.

The attic doors are closed. The only signs of life are the clearer dust spottings on the door’s curving handles, where Ivor must have grabbed them. He traces the brief handprints, grabbing the handles by the same imprint as he slowly opens the double doors, just enough to slip through them. 

He emerges into the attic with no-slip ups, thank the Gods, but almost immediately finds that the stairwell darkness isn’t nearly as suffocating as the musty scent of dust and old wood on the air. The attic is only just brighter than the stairwell, therefore no less chilling. The window on the west side gives little light, only the mixed colors drawn from a sun that had just dipped below the horizon. 

Radar grips his wrist in tightly wrapped fingers. A nervous habit, as he pulls his own skin, wrist straining as they go pale. He’s never liked darkness. Does anybody? 

“Guys?” 

It’s a poor question, simple as it is. The attic is filled with numerous crates of junk and old belongings, space long like a hallway but still wide enough to take the role of a storage space. As much as it's filled, there’s still a cavernous, empty space towards the center of the room, where the last of the stained glass light projects itself in a faded, distorted image of the amulet. 

Radar paces his steps perfectly, one after another, like a bandit waiting to trip a wire or pressure plate underfoot. The ground in front of him is frighteningly desolate, barren of the outline of a tripwire or a line of poorly placed redstone. He’d seen that before, in smaller jungle temples; when spider silk was scarce, powdery trails of redstone would suffice in its place, traps triggering only when signals were disrupted by careless adventurers. 

This isn’t a jungle temple, though. It’s  _ the  _ temple of the Order of the Stone. It's his home, as much as the fact refuses to sink in, despite the endless days and weeks and months he’s spent here already. 

Painstakingly, Radar examines every shadow, every flicker of dust in the dimly lit air. He finds nothing. 

All the same, Radar knows the feeling of being watched, despite the swelling accusations in his brain that he screwed up his timing, that Ivor and the other atune are already gone, that he’s making an idiot of himself before an audience of mice and sleepy bats. 

Soon enough, he finds himself standing at the blue-gleaming center of the amulet. 

“Hello? Anyone here?” 

Radar doesn’t expect an answer. He expects anything to happen, for something to swallow him up or startle him, but he doesn’t expect an actual  _ answer.  _

The answer is loud. The answer is  _ hissed,  _ given by a voice that knows its own authority, confident and full of itself. It’s one he’s never heard before, sending shivers slinking up his spine. 

“ _ Radarrr…”  _ The word carries comfortably. “ _ Of the Order of the Stone..”  _

Radar's gaze scatters, shooting around the room and back into every shadow he could have missed, but he finds nothing.The space around him shifts with the noise of movement, like flesh dragging on smooth stone. Light of the stain-glass shimmers and distorts where it's projected on the floor. 

“ _ The slayer of Fire Aspect…”  _

It's with another strike of fear that Radar realizes the floor  _ itself _ is moving. Changing. Its texture flickers like prismarine between colors. His eyes shoot up, looking for other signs of the illusion, or whatever life that surrounds him. This fusion is not Aspect, for as much as his fear claws at him, but her mention makes him rigid. 

He answers, too; a stuttered reply that makes him cringe in embarrassment nearly as soon as it leaves him. “Ye- yep! That’s me!” 

It gets a laugh out of the fusion. Breathy and light, but still deep. The laugh is hauntingly familiar. Their next jab is sing-song in amusement, coming closer to Radar with every heavily spoken word. 

_ “Not quite a hero,”  _ It's then that the floor changes again, finally unmasking itself. In slow motion, shimmering scales come to life around him in a spiral, black as night with crossing patterns of golden and emerald scales. 

_ “Not quite a coward…”  _ The scales- the  _ tail,  _ longer and thicker than the tail of a beast has any right to be -moves rapidly around Radar, closing in seamlessly. It's then, in the ensuing panic of being trapped, that the fusion reveals themselves fully. The host of the near-endless tail emerges from the shadows; a human figure rises on a serpent’s body, heavy robes and hood obscuring their face even as they weave closer. 

“ _ Maybe neither. Or BOTH.”  _

The voice is mocking. 

With that, the body surrounding Radar coils tightly. Warm scales press against his legs, trailing up and shifting rapidly as it lifts him from the floor with little warning, coils enshrouding him up to his chest and pressing his arms against his sides. They pull tight, pushing the breath out of his lungs, but loosen with his whine of pain. 

Chest pounding, Radar heaves. Breathing stings in a way it hasn’t for days. 

At the very least, this fusion has empathy. It doesn’t bother to break his ribs even more than they’re already broken. 

Radar’s gaze stays locked on the figure, slithering towards him over its own coils. The stain-glass light highlights more intricate details of their robe, like the yellow lining on the sleeves and the hood’s edge, and how such a robe hangs heavy one their frame, as the fusions two hands reach to pull their hood back. Their hair, long enough to hang in front of their shoulders, is nearly as golden and shiny as stripes on the fusion’s onyx scales, ends of their hair tipped in inky black. 

Radar isn’t met with two eyes, but  _ four,  _ each pair set evenly on their face, a second striking gaze aligned just below the first. The highest set of eyes is dark and narrow, its gaze quizzical, but the second is bright, blue eyes contrasting the first set in their wideness and curiosity. 

Both gazes are ones that Radar knows too well. Like Ivor, always critically observant and set in his looks. Like  _ Lukas,  _ full of wonder and thoughts vast enough to swim in. Yet, within both gazes, there’s something sinister. 

Radar’s own eyes widen in return as his jaw goes slack. 

He’s met Ivor’s other fusions plenty of times before, same with Lukas’s- but meeting the fusion of  _ Ivor and Lukas  _ is a first, one that he’s rarely heard mentioned by anyone. The times it's been mentioned, they’ve been all but leery, mentioning worries of this fusion’s ‘tendencies’ under baited breath. 

That explains why they don’t incite this one for information more often. 

It figures that they would fuse somewhere isolated. Here Radar is, waltzing right into the snake pit, the hiding place of the only other fusion he should fear. 

_ Invisibility.  _

Invisibility, known for their mental instability compared to the other fusions, obsessing over the details of the past for as much as they seem to know about the present. A bit of an anomaly, really, for how much they know about  _ everyone else, _ whispering secrets of which neither Ivor or Lukas have ever heard. 

“...Hello. Nice to meet you.” Radar forces a smile, as sloppy as it is nervous. 

With so many eyes, Invisibility is bound to see right through it. They do, lazily slithering around Radar, examining every inch of the young hero with intent rigor in their narrowed gaze. Invisibility hums, ending in a growl to match the scowl on their face as they turn their head to the side prudently. 

" _ You remind me of the urchins who ruined my plans so long ago… _ ” They laugh again, heavy and breathy like the laugh from before. “ _ A query... Have you ever seen the effects of a potion of slowness? _ "

It doesn’t look like Invisibility has anything hidden in their robe, but he isn’t quick to judge. Not when the fusion's hands are twitching the way they are, brow furrowing similarly. 

Invisibility is also known for being simply  _ unstable,  _ fusion-wise. It's best assumed that right now, Ivor is the one at the helm of their mind, driving the fusion’s impulses and being steered by recurring memory after memory.. Ivor always loves it when Radar gets his facts straight, especially on the subject of potions. Any good hero needs to know what they’re dealing with at a quick glance, especially when they’re dealing with an alchemist. 

Or in this case, someone who’s  _ half  _ alchemist. 

(A quick glance is more than enough to judge the exigency that comes with the fusion’s features. Effectively, this one is a naga, and quite a big one while they’re at it. Big nagas tend to be vicious, and voracious as their snake-headed basilisk cousins.) 

"...Yeah. It's one of- one of the cruelest potions that any alchemist can use.” His voice trembles, but given the fusion’s history, honesty must be best preferred. 

The fusion makes a pleased hum in response; a signal of permission to continue. 

“...It attacks the nervous system from the outside in, causing stutter, extreme aches and pains, even voice distortion. And I think it exaggerates the effects of wither... Oh, and the really bad ones will cause permanent nerve damage." 

Invisibility pauses in their slithering to slowly blink. They rumble, lighter tone indicating some form of satisfaction. Invi’s coils loosen by a fraction. 

Ah.

It's a game: Answer questions, make the fusion happy, get out alive. Better than holding onto little more than desperation and uncertainty. Better than no pattern to follow at all. The opportunity is a lifeline to be grabbed and held onto with an iron grip. 

He really,  _ really  _ should have listened to Ivor, but he’s also still got a shot to find out what he needs. 

More risks. Always  _ risks.  _

Suddenly Invisibility’s examination cuts short. The fusion grins at him, all fangs, both sets of eyes widening as if they’d set their sights on a rare artifact to be had. They shift uncomfortably close, turning their head to the side and widening their jaw to show off its rows of sharp teeth, glistening like pearls in the waning light of a setting sun. 

_ Like Fire Aspect’s- no, no, no- _

“ _In your battle with her, you feared yourself as prey._ ” Invisibility introjects, a knowing look in their eyes. “ _Feared she would devour you. You fear_ **_I_** _will do the same. Why, pray tell-”_ They then point to their jaw, finger curled. “ _-would you risk it all to speak to_ ** _me?_** ”

Radar swallows the bile building in his throat. Along with it goes the heaviest of his fear, pulled along with the swirling confusion of how Invisibility could ever come to possess that kind of information. Invisibility is here in the first place  _ because  _ they know such things, and their knowledge is an asset as much as it is a weapon to be used in a standoff of wits. 

Or patience. 

He has a hunch that they’d appreciate a little bravery; The sense of an urge to fight back, at least by way of mouth (After all, isn’t that what their intern is best at?). 

Fear is pushed aside in favor of a burst of anger that strains his words. They’re honest words, angry as they are. No use lying to a beast that would see through lies as clearly as their eyes pierce the dark of night. 

“Because at least you’re more  _ reasonable  _ than she is!” Radar’s fists curl beneath the coils. If Invisibility is going to know his intentions anyway, He may as well be upfront about them, though it’s impossible not to sound as pointed and accusing as he does. “Something’s wrong with her, and you know it, and I need to find out!  _ That’s  _ why.” 

Why else does Invisibility think he’d be here? Hubris? Radar’s had his fair share of dealing with feral fusions all on his own,  _ thank you very much.  _

The fusion itself has a better reaction than expected. At first. 

Invisibility jerks back, startled by the sudden stream of harsh words. Their eyes narrow as their tail shifts, coil shuffling but growing no less tighter. Their next question is the most straightforward they’ve asked. 

" _ Why do you think I'd help you, Radarrr _ ?" 

They say it as their head is tilted to the side, eyes narrowed with suspicion. 

Behavior like this, with the sudden recounting of words said in the distant past (Radar’s heard the flamboyant tales, the dramatic reccounting of things the Order members had all said in the heat of the moment, amid the wrath of the Witherstorm), start to give Radar some ideas. 

Fusions, especially new or unstable ones, are finicky. Their minds are not fully one, their body not in full sync, producing odd twitches or garbled strings of speech. Some have it easier than others, but all things considered, Invisibility knows how to manage their body where their mind is scattered like glass shards, jumping from one thought and mentality to the next, jumping from good intentions to downright evil ones, built on distrust and trauma. Their minds are an incomplete mesh of Ivor and Lukas’s own, but in this form, their cracks only run deeper. Damaged and afraid, they’re using their power to its fullest extent in order to protect themselves from hurting again, all while weathering the blow of those memories whenever they speak. 

Ivor’s at the helm, and Ivor is toying with him. But Radar sees Lukas there, in Invisibility’s eyes, in their pride and the way they carry themselves and look at Radar with absolute intrigue and wonder. 

If he could just bring Lukas to the front… if Radar can play Invisibility at their own game, obsessed with the past… 

"Why- why do you think Jesse took Lukas under her wing, despite everything else?” Considering it all, the years of unchecked bullying from the Ocelots without a word from Lukas… Radar never would have done it. Never would have stuck out his neck like that, embracing someone who sat idly by to his antagonistic friends for so long. 

Or… Would he? Would he, if the world came crashing down like it had then? 

So Radar sticks his neck out, brave and desperate, to reach the atune he needs. 

“Lukas, I  _ know  _ you’re in there, and- and I know you’re probably freaked out about this, but I really need your help. Please." 

It's the wrong choice. 

Invisibility’s breath picks up. They  _ snarl,  _ face going flush with utter rage, their whole body tensing with ineluctable fury. They rear up as their snarl grows in volume, rising above Radar and looking down on him as their voice explodes like thunder into the attic space. 

" _ WHY DO YOU THINK THE WITHER STORM WAS MADE IN THE FIRST PLACE?! THEY DID NOT RESPECT ME! THEY NEVER DID! THREW ME AWAY! ERASED MY NAME!  _ **_MY NAME IS INVISIBILITY!_ ** _ " _

Invisibility’s tail wriggles loose only for the coil to tighten with more force than it has yet, pressing around Radar’s throat and into his chest. Once again, his breath is forced out, no hope of regaining it within the fusion’s trap. 

Fear claws at Radar’s mind, back in full force. His attempt to cry out falls in on itself, no louder than a mouse’s squeak. 

The coils grow tighter, sliding over each other into one cluster with Radar at its center. His heart pumps faster, but his blood can’t flow, not under this pressure. The coils are so tight his head begins to pound. 

Tighter. 

Radar looks for any trace of regret in Invisibility’s eyes,  _ any  _ lingering doubt or thought of stopping, but it isn’t there. Invisibility is enthralled. They’re  _ smiling _ like a wolf after the hunt _ ,  _ taking pleasure in revenge. Radar’s body throbs, arms and legs aching as they’re bent, nearing the point of breaking. 

Fingers and toes going cold, Radar fights to breathe. He loses. 

_ Tighter.  _

_ He can’t breathe can’t breathe the world’s going dark, pop in his chest, it hurts it hurts it hurts can’t breathe can’t breathe why are they looking at me like that like the Warden did why but you have so many eyes why-  _

_ Tight. So tight.  _

Invisibility’s eyes widen. The coil goes still, pressure is so great that consciousness begins to yield. It slips between his fingers, no room to move or breathe. His chest burns like never before. Darkness creeps in the corner of his vision, threatening to take over as splotches of it form in the center of his vision. 

_ Can’t breathe can’t breathe can’t breathe- …Can. CAN BREATHE-  _

Invisibility’s endless coils ease. Radar’s arms fly up as he gasps violently, taking in breath so fast that he almost gags, leaning onto Invisibility’s warm scales as he covers his mouth with parted fingers. It feels like he’s coughing dust, breaths scratchy, vaguely smoothing down as he takes the most life giving breath he ever has. 

It’s life-giving until his chest clobbers with pain and he coughs again, the following gasps much shorter. 

" _ Ah… _ ” Invisibility bows their head. The toothy smile fades into a look of malaise. “ _ I forget. We have told you the stories _ ." 

They have. Those nights spent in the firelight as Lukas reads off the reccounting of his tales, all the hardships and all the glory, passionate like the hero he is, the hero he never asked to be. Ivor, too, on the rare nights when Radar had worked himself to sickness, spinning his own tales with a soft voice and equally soft grin. 

Sometimes those moments ended with darkness haunting their faces. 

Radar heaves, swaying with dizziness as the shadows in his vision gradually clear. “Y-Yeah. You have.”

He should have known better than to call fusions by their components’ names, especially after dealing with  _ her.  _ Stupid,  _ stupid stupid- _ his feet shift, finding the ground again, already aiming for the way out, to run from this mad fusion as fast as possible before being eaten or worse.  _ This lesson has been learned before.  _

Invisibility's help isn't a requirement. Radar's got access to ledgers, records, all sorts of wells of information. It'll take longer, but at least it won't kill him. This is what he gets for taking the road less traveled. 

It, more often than not, has a reason to be less traveled. 

Invisibility slithers, their tail close enough to brush against Radar’s ankles as they move about. Their movement fills every moment, overtaking every corner of silence, twisting their body and gaze to look at Radar from a new angle. That look is sardonic with every blink. 

This time, the look in their eyes is  _ different.  _ The darker of Invisibility’s four eyes flutter to a squint as their lower, blue eyes take focus. The anger, however present, is buried now behind unrelenting curiosity. 

_ Lukas.  _ So it  _ did  _ work!

(Most plans of this nature work out that way, with Radar being near strangled by something or other only to be scooped up and saved at the last second. Usual luck of the Order of the Stone.)

Their voice sounds deeper. Calmer, as Invisibility offers a concerned smile. 

“ _ You are right, Radar. So very right. Something… Something  _ **_stirs_ ** _ within her. _ ” Invisibility grips their stomach for half a moment, turning away, tail shifting and unfurling like wet rope as Invisibility folds their arms. “ _ She can be helped, but I cannot tell you how. _ ” 

Radar straightens abruptly with a spike of anger. “You mean to tell me I went through the trouble of talking to you,  _ just  _ so you could-” 

Invisibility growls. That silences the young hero quickly. He doesn’t feel like tempting fate tonight, at least not more than he already has. Just to be safe, Radar begins stepping away. His back faces the door, so close yet so far in the elongate room. The room deepens as he gazes down the pathway over his shoulder, dark corners closing in.

He’s run long ways before, it can’t be so hard to do again with a wide-jawed monster in pursuit. Harder when he’s faced with a waving sea of coils, the fusion slithering around him, weaving uncomfortably close to utter their next prophecy. 

“ **_I_ ** _ cannot tell you, because the answers you seek lie with another! _ ” With one finger raised, the serpent turns again, pointing to their eyes, one blue distinctly shut.  _ “The one-eyed adventurer! Scour his shop, and you may find what you’re looking for.” _

Jack’s shop- the Adventure Emporium. 

That would be more helpful if he knew  _ what _ he was supposed to be looking for, but a lead is a lead, one he’s more than eager to follow as his heel shifts, ready to turn and bolt as quickly as possible for the door. A familiar feeling of hot, burning shame crawls up his cheek. It's a stern reminder as his fingers brush the healing blood scalds, that there’s a hearty difference between cowardice and necessary self preservation. 

That doesn’t mean the self preservation route is eloquent, because the plan following that is to run straight to the emporium and shake Jack by the shoulders until ancient secrets fall out of his pockets. 

Radar’s gaze lowers to find that his hands are trembling. There’s no telling wh-  _ liar.  _

Invisibility gaze falls to the same place. Head tilted in concern, they reach down to pat at his forearms knowingly. They know what lurks beneath his sleeves as well as he does.

A low sound fills the attic then. Momentarily, it’s mistaken for thunder, but as deeply as the noise rumbles, it’s too quiet. Eerily soft as it rises and falls like Invisibility’s restless coils, or perhaps something as comforting as prismarine ocean waves. 

Radar’s steps are taken like a frightened cat’s. One step backward, starting with bent toes and ending at the heel, followed by another wider step over one of Invi’s coils. Invisibility doesn’t flex, leaving room for Radar to move away, but they do  _ follow  _ the young hero, leaning forward as their head sways with slithering motions. Their hair hangs down wildly, brushing over their scales. 

It takes another deathly still moment to realize that the sound is  _ humming.  _ Invi’s humming, as the fusion’s movement has slowed to a near-crawl. Humming that sounds like Lukas’s songs hummed on nights when the fear of nightmares kept Radar awake. 

(A little like Petra’s and the songs  _ she _ would hum when messing with his hair, seeing how she could style it or fool with it- but she’s not here.) 

When the song comes to its end, his fingers are still. 

Invisibility knows too much. 

Radar backsteps over the last coil between himself and a clear path to freedom. The soothsayer fusion bores into him with their captivated gaze, pulling their coils back but leaning their body forward. 

A striking posture, ready to spring like a mousetrap. Yet… Their four eyes flood with fondness, lip twitching. 

“ _ My deepest apologies- I didn't mean to scatter your bravery. _ " Invisibility glances knowingly between Radar and the attic doors. They inch forward. “ _ I understand… It is your time to go, but I hope we meet again. Talk over lunch, perhaps.” _

They huff with laughter, waving to the side like a housemaid with a handkerchief. _ “Maybe we could even become good friends? _ ”

“Uh… Yeah. Maybe.” 

If there’s one thing Invisibility  _ doesn’t  _ know, it’s how to read a room. What the walls have seen are cryptic at best and detrimental at worst, and Radar feels like that problem includes him, brain on fire as the right responses juggle themselves on his tongue. 

Can Invi be blamed for their lack of social coordination?  _ But how hard is it not to go from choking out interns to doting on them?  _ All the while, the fusion inches closer. Their body slides sickeningly across the stone as they nudge as close as defensiveness will allow, Radar responding with two more steps back. 

He’s treated to another slow-blink from Invi.  _ top left-top right-lower left-lower right.  _

“ _ Go. _ ” __

Two beats pass, long enough for the sun’s light to rest at last, slipping away through the crevice of the horizon. Full darkness washes over them as they stare, allowing the moment to pass between them. 

As it turns out, Invi’s eyes glow in the dark. Even with the last scraps of sunlight gone, the path to the attic doors is clear. One last blink is shared between them, defensively as Radar leaves one foot set behind him and a fist curled at his side. 

He bolts. 

Invisibility does the same, shooting forward with their mouth agape in a hissing snarl. Their bite misses a fraction too late, teeth shaving against the peak of his hood, dangerously close enough for a high-pitched growl to resonate in his ears. 

_ Never trust a serpent.  _

His heart pumps like it hasn’t since that day in the arena, legs pumping under the weight of raw fear rather than a golden longsword. Despite all the words of Petra clawing at him before opening those doors, he’s dangerously unarmed. 

Invisibility is  _ almost  _ faster, gliding at full speed through the stone path like a silverfish through cave tunnels. They follow at his side, veering terrifyingly close with bared teeth. They snap violently in the air, inches away-

Radar bursts through the attic doors. He tumbles, hip slamming into the edge of a stair at the same time Invisibility slams into the wall adjacent to the door, unleashing a nasty growl that resonates with the trembling ground. 

Radar’s body rolls forward enough for him to reach out and snatch a handrail, balancing himself. 

One hand on their injured head, Invisibility glowers through the attic doorway. 

" _Be wary, Radar Lowenthal!_ ” Invisibility snarls, gripping the attic doors stiffly. Angry as they sound, the fusion wears a grin. “ _It is your time to be a hero once again, but you must stand steadfast. Ivor and Petra believe they can stop her, but they are mistaken- and if_ ** _you_** _cannot stop the Aspect of Fire, it will cost them their lives!_ “

The naga’s words sink in like melting snow, chilling from flesh down to the core. At his core, it sinks like a venom, burning with confusion and fear. 

Invisibility knows too much- they’ve got to be mixed up from time to time, right? But they snarl again, sparking a jolt up their listener’s spine. 

  
“ _ So go! Faster than your little hustlesticks will carry you!” _

Radar obeys, scrambling to his feet to rush down the attic stairwell, catching every cobweb and fleck of dust. Though faded by distance, Invisibility’s final words aren’t missed. 

_ “Hah… _ ” Invi laughs to himself. “ _ I always loved that line... _ ” 


	2. And The Night Was Burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Invisibility's words in mind, Radar sets out into the night to discover the answer to Fire Aspect's cruelty, meeting unexpected allies and old friends alike. When forgotten secrets are uncovered, the darkness of the night is consumed by something greater.

The front temple doors shut heavily behind Radar. The ground is slick, shining with nightly summer rain that pours onto Beacontown, bringing with it flashes of lightning and rolling thunder. His footsteps clack down the front steps, muffling as he shifts to the side, sticking to the nearest wall and moving to the edges of the main street. 

Clammy hands cling to the edges of Radar’s hood, pulled up tightly over his head. When he’s sure its secure enough, his arms settle across his chest, holding himself as the night chills find their way to him in a gust of wind. 

An umbrella would have been easier for the sake of protection from the rain, not to mention better identity concealment, but… 

The others would have heard him in the entryway. Living together means recognizing the little patterns, ticks and clicks that distinguish one intention from another. If the rattling of the umbrella stand is unmistakable to him, it would be unmistakable to them. They’d catch him leaving, and he doesn’t feel like getting caught in such dire straits when he’s got a mission in mind. 

It’s been two days, but the words of Invisibility refuse to stop echoing in the back of Radar’s mind. Distrusting a serpent is wise in many ways, but ignoring the serpent’s own wisdom could spell trouble:  _ This _ serpent is intelligent beyond the Order’s own understanding, filled with the conglomerate knowledge of Ivor and Lukas, likely far more than what they’d been limited to. 

There was no record of Invisibility ever being  _ wrong,  _ not that Radar could find. Fusion logs from the enchanting room stated quite the opposite.    
  
“ _ 14th of Morning Star, Successfully predicted a robbery in the Beacontown square.  _ _   
_ _ 31st of Frost Fall, Successfully predicted collapse in redstone mines   
_ _ 2nd of Midyear, Successfully predicted the discovery of a new stronghold to the east.” _

Radar isn’t fond of the dread that washed over him those hours ago, holding ink spotted pages in ice cold fingers. That sort of dread had already made its home in his heart when this  _ investigation _ began. The moment he found the courage to speak to Invisibility, it felt like taboo, some juvenile secret to be hidden away from parents and older siblings. 

Fittingly, the chewing out he’d gotten after Invisibility unfused was like no other. 

_ “NO more- no more of THAT! Don’t you know we could have killed you?!”  _ Ivor had slapped his open palm down on the desk, other hand resting firmly on his temple. “ _ Your ribs are re-broken, you’re bruised- If you didn’t have that healing potion in your system right now, I doubt you’d be looking so brave. No more fusions! No more adventures! NONE!”  _

Lukas had been similarly displeased. 

In _his_ lecture, shame was quicker to rise. " _I thought we talked about this sort of thing. Radar, you- just stop, okay?_ _You can't keep getting yourself hurt like this. We're worried about you._ "

Ivor wasn’t wrong; it was easier to feel brave and determined, maybe a little foolhardy, with something so life-giving flowing through him. 

If that were the final straw in getting him to sneak out like this, would it really be Radar’s fault?

After consideration, Radar decides that whether or not he’d heard cryptic words or found Invisibility’s fusion log, this is the sort of truth-searching he would have embarked on anyway. He’s not one to ignore the call to adventure anymore, and even if he still were happy to leave it to the ‘real’ heroes, old pep talks from Jesse would be sure to crop up like weeds in his troubled mind. 

So here he is, untroubled by winds or rain. (A little bit uncomfortable as the cool dampness sinks through his hoodie.) 

Streaks of light shine on the glimmering Beacontown streets, lanterns lining every pathway. The colors merge with neon lights and gleaming windows from homes not yet consumed with sleep, merging into a river of light on the road that ripples in puddles beneath darkened skies. The night is still young, though one perfect for an early bedtime. In any other circumstances, Radar would have been more than happy to be lulled into slumber by the pattering of rain on window panes. 

That’s what the Order  _ thinks  _ he’s doing. He hopes. 

Ivor’s distrust was made clear by the tiny black vial placed in Radar’s hands just after returning from the enchanting room. 

“ _ You are to sleep early tonight. If you wake up by some unholy chance, myself and the others will be in the meeting room for… a considerable length of time.”  _

Radar, feeling not unlike a grounded teenager, was quick to scoff.  _ “Aren’t I one of you guys? Come on, I should be down there. I can help- That’s my  _ **_job._ ** _ ”  _

_ “You’re as important as any one of us, but this matter does not concern you.”  _ To be blatantly lied to, by  _ Ivor  _ no less, was a disappointment. He pointed to the bed. “ _ My bed is open to you, if you so wish. Goodnight.”  _

And Ivor, too consumed in his own worry, made the crucial mistake of trusting poison to go down on its own. 

Being sent to bed early made fantastic room for frustrated contemplation. Head on the pillow, eyes wide open, it was so  _ easy  _ to string together determination and hubris in the form of a plan that would finally bring Invisibility’s warnings to fruition. The sleeping potion fit perfectly in the space between Ivor’s bed and nightstand, stashed without a second thought. 

Being grounded was an opportunity. With everyone in the meeting hall, there’d be no one to spot him slipping through the temple doors. They only opened so far before creaking, but with his small frame, slipping through without a peep was easy. 

Hoodie dawned like a cape, his sights were set on Bad Luck Alley. It's easy enough to find the alley’s main road, lined with netherrack lamps burning dimmer in the rain but refusing to exhaust. The heart of the alley is somehow darker than the rest of Beacontown. Radar’s boots splash in a wide, reflective puddle as he passes the lanterns. 

Bad Luck Alley is as alive as ever on nights like these. In many ways, it makes ventures like these all the more terrifying. 

Under canopies between cramped buildings, people gather for tales at fire pits. Their deep voices echo down streets charmed with the song of rain. Dogs bark in the distance, joining the clinking of iron and gold bits tossed and caught over and over in alley-goer’s hands. 

Though light is sparse, the Alley’s various boutiques and superettes are desperate to be seen, signs lit with the soft flickering glow of redstone, displaying advertisements for rarer materials like wither skulls and blaze rods. None of the signs read names he can recognize from Beacontown’s ledgers. 

Radar startles as an alleycat bolts in front of him, caterwauling as another feline joins it in pursuit. His pace continues only when they slink from sight through a hole in a fence across the way. The oddly peaceful ambience is dotted with the wet steps of passerby. None pay Radar any mind, heads down and shoulders hunched. 

All but one. 

The next alley Radar passes is entirely consumed in shadow. Hairs on the back of his neck stick up even after he’s passed it, when its several feet behind him. A presence sinks into the path like spilled poison. Radar glances over his shoulder, chin low. 

A figure, as dark as an extension of the alleyway, follows him. The figure is also much larger than him, towering despite the distance between them. 

Heart jumping, Radar picks up pace. 

The figure walks faster. 

Beacontown or not, Bad Luck Alley is just that; bad luck. His fists tighten in his hoodie pockets, pushing down at the fabric. Unarmed, no cash on him, no- 

The heaviest hand that Radar’s ever felt (heavier than Ivor’s when he’s about to give an emotional fatherly lecture) slams down on his shoulder, spinning him around. He tries to pull away, but the grip is firm. Equally tense, he and the figure face each other through Radar’s rain-dotted half-broken glasses. 

They breathe heavily, breath sinking into a mask covering the lower half of their face. Though their forehead is wrinkled, those eyes are strikingly wide, reddened veins visible in the corners.    
  
Fist tremoring, a small knife is revealed at their belt. It points to Radar’s gut, knotting with nausea at the sight. 

“Valuables.” The blade jabs forward. “ _ Now. _ ”

_ Bad luck.  _ He should have taken Petra’s advice, kept a knife in his boot,  _ something-  _

Very slowly, his pockets are felt at. All empty, filled only by desperate fingers as they’re searched in vain. 

“Ya better hand somethin’ over  _ now,  _ or I’ll gut ye like a fish.” The stranger’s speech is slurred, sodden with distorted anger. 

They aren’t placated by Radar holding up empty palms, dipping his head in submission. It’s his best hope, unless he can turn tail fast enough for the stranger to miss. Radar got lucky with Invisibility’s strike. Here, things are too close, blade a finger’s length away unlike Invi’s springlocked jaws poised to pounce meters away. 

At least that was a  _ test. _

Radar tries to step back only for the stranger to take one more step forward. The roar of rain falls harder, nearly drowning out rapidly approaching footsteps. 

The approaching footsteps- three pairs of them -come to a halt. All hands rest in their pockets, all shoulders squared from what Radar can see of them, leaning to look past the mugger’s shoulder. 

If he weren’t dead already, their arrival means his corpse is  _ guaranteed _ to soon be six feet under, worms feasting. He’s had a good life. This is fine.  _ This is fine.  _

That train of thought shifts as soon as the lead of the new strangers speak. Tone imposing, it sounds sane, unlike the mugger’s. The words he speaks are even more reassuring. "Back  _ off, _ Skitzer. The kid's ours."

Skitzer turns, knife lowering. “I thoughta you’d said-” 

“Forget what I said!” The voice grows more tense. “Bottom line, that guy’s in the  _ noots,  _ if you know what I mean. You poke into him and we’re  _ all  _ in trouble.” 

The internal screaming question of what the  _ noots  _ are even supposed to be is suspended as Skidzer’s eyes widen. “Sorry, kid.” 

Skitzer backs away by one step. Another step. Far enough for them to turn, looking towards the alley they first emerged from like a snake from its shed. Skidzer shuffles back to their lair with trudging steps. 

That leaves Radar alone with the new strangers. Their faces are dim in the redstone streetlights, long shadows they cast creeping over Radar like the shadows of vultures. 

They step closer.

“‘ _ The most unexpected hero of them all… a conqueror of the Sunshine Institute, harboring passion as fiery as lava, imbued with the stamina of a ravager.’”  _ The new stranger recites. Radar recognizes it as a line from Lukas’s newest book about the Admin Crisis. A line about  _ him _ that made his chest swell with pride upon its first reading. 

Now, his chest tightens with a mix of shame and fear. 

No one wins when the images of heroes are met with disillusion. Living up to expectations has never been his strongsuit. 

The new strangers fill the space that Skidzer left. The leader stands before him, arms crossed as his associates gather around him, flanking Radar from the left and right. 

_ -never have left, should never have left, should have just gone to bed- _

The bearded man to his right has the audacity to  _ laugh,  _ patting Radar on the back with a heavy hand hard enough to send him into a coughing fit. 

“Ahah! You can  _ breathe  _ now!” The other two join him in the shift of attitude, hard composures collapsing into grins. 

“Nice save, guys! Nice save.” The leader pats his friends’ shoulders just as he returns his attention to Radar, smile settling into something friendly and smug. Knowing. It’s a  _ knowing _ smile, and he speaks with a similar cool confidence. “Yeah, you’re pretty popular with Lukas’s readers. Nice to meet you. You can call me- uh… Dan.” 

Though all of them in the semicircle look ruffled, clothes and hair heavy with rain, there’s something staggeringly familiar in the leader’s face that Radar doesn’t quite manage to place. He takes the offered hand regardless of risks it may pose, shaking it heartily. Dan shows respect for it, squeezing Radar’s fingers before letting go. 

“Nice name choice, Aiden!” The bearded one pipes up again. ‘Dan’ goes rigid, slapping his friend hard on the shoulder, to which he flinches. 

“GILL! I mean-” Aiden stammers, reaching for something that isn’t there before his arms fall lifelessly to their sides. He rolls his eyes, shooting Gill a hard glare before settling on Radar again. “Oh, forget it. I’m Aiden. This is Maya, and  _ that’s _ Gill. We’re the Blaze Rods.” 

More pieces of familiarity fall together- Aiden. He knows that name. Something muttered by Lukas, maybe? A neatly signed name on a letter from their correspondence chest, cursive words outreaching a request for redemption- But from  _ what?  _

Radar knows  _ of _ Aiden, but he can hardly begin to know him. The man seems friendly enough, saving him and all. 

Maya and Gill nod respectively. Maya prods at his shoulder to make herself known the same way Gill had, more tone behind her prod than the force of Gill’s hand. Her message doesn’t go without notice. ' _ I’m a friend, but I’m just as strong as he is.'  _

"Nice digs, kid." Maya says as she shrugs. "Kinda cold tonight, though. You need a jacket or anything? We can run and getcha a spare back at the shop." 

"Oh, um…" His voice is tiny. Radar's fingers twitch, finding their place in his pockets again to grapple for scattered thoughts and questions. And pleasantries. "Thank you, no thank you. What- Uh, what exactly is the ‘noots’ thing you mentioned before?” 

If it’s important enough that its utterance sends muggers trudging away with their tails tucked between their legs, it’s something vital enough to be in the know-how about. Perplexingly, it gets Aiden to smile. 

"New-Order-Of-The-Stone" Aiden counts the words on each finger, smile on his lips. “Alley slang. I’m not surprised you didn’t know, but that’s cool. This place isn’t for everyone.” 

When the dots connect, Radar feels like he’s been flicked in the nose. Should that have been obvious? It’s not like Aiden is wrong, either; Bad Luck Alley isn’t for everyone. It's notably for people who give little correspondence, if any, and want a place to do their dealings where they aren’t under the harsh cataloguing and name-tracking of Radar’s office. By the looks of it, the Blaze Rods haven’t been keen on making themselves known. The name is a foggy memory, something mentioned months ago. 

The Alley- it's for people who are the  _ opposite  _ of the Order’s intern. 

_ Petra, people who are actually good at the hands-on hero matters, people who are cooler than him.  _

Aiden recognizes the expression of shame as it begins. He swoops in, setting something new on the table to distract from it, the same way Lukas has done for Radar before.

The Blaze Rods’ leader is an experienced one. He sets a lax tone with his shrug, shoulders relaxing as he tilts his head like a curious wolf. 

“Let’s make a deal. Don’t tell the other  _ noots _ we’re here, and we’ll keep an eye out for ya.” Aiden pulls the fist from his pocket, staying curled but gesturing to the street with a pointed thumb. “We’re gonna be up for a while, so just holler if you need anything. We’ll hear you- Alley’s kinda a small world.” 

It would be foolish to deny free protection when he’s unarmed. Being threatened with a knife  _ once  _ is enough for him. The Blaze Rods are eager to please, Maya and Gill nodding along to Aiden’s words, humming with surprise as Radar stands straighter to take Aiden’s hand. 

Friends in high places are more than Radar could ask for. If a few words from Aiden can send someone off, they’re valuable allies. Ones that, best assumed, don’t seem to be planning on stabbing him as soon as his back is turned to them. 

Hopefully.

“Deal, deal!” Radar shakes Aiden’s hand vigorously, to the man’s amusement. “I’ll- I owe you a favor too.” 

Sputtered pleasantries, but he means it. 

“In that case,” Aiden’s hands fall back into his pockets, grin marking no ill will. “Tell that Lukas guy to check his mail, will ya?” 

* * *

Considering all damage it’d taken in the midst of the Admin Crisis, the Adventure Emporium had recovered quite well. At least half of it’s stolen wares were recovered, new ones being logged and sent in from those lucky enough to find something recognizable, and Petra had scored at least four lost artifacts thanks to her black market connections. 

Most of the time, the Emporium looks grand in its own right, nestled neatly in the Alley with its sails and flags waving high on summer winds. Now those sails hang lifelessly, dampened by rain.

The shop’s windows, a recent addition in remodeling after its unfortunate ransacking, are hopelessly dark. Radar’s jogging slows, stopping just outside to peer in. The canopy is a moment’s relief from the rain. Still, Radar can make out little more than murky shelves as he leans against the glass, squinting through the darkness to spot any sign of life. 

Nothing.  _ Closed for the night.  _

“No _ \- come on! _ ” Radar hisses. He paces to the other set of windows only to be disappointed with similar results. 

Jack didn’t mention anything about he and Nurm heading out for an adventure, but he announces their departures for smaller trips rarely. The lack of a ‘closed’ sign is the only remaining scrap of hope. 

When in doubt, knock. Excessively. 

The front doors receive several hard taps. He knocks in short bursts, pauses between them, and is sure to add his voice. Just to be thorough. 

“Jack? Nurm?” He half-yells, standing on his tiptoes to peer through the door’s blinds. “Hello?  _ Hello?! _ ”

Silence is filled by a thunder clap. Desperate, Radar gives the doors three brief pounds. “Anyone home?!”

Finally,  _ finally,  _ a shadow moves within the Emporium. It passes around a few displays, meandering, until a pair of eyes are looking Radar up and down through the blinds, used like a peephole. A lock on the other side of the door clicks loose. The doors creak open. 

Nurm stands there in his pajamas, hat lopsided, nearly glaring as he blinks the sleep from his eyes. (Radar’s guild about waking him up is doused in favor of the desire to solve the fusion mystery and  _ also  _ get out of the rain  _ now _ .) 

The ‘ _ Hmm?’  _ He offers could be most confused noise Radar’s ever heard from him.

“...Radar?” It’s one of the few names that Nurm’s vocal cords can properly produce. The rest of his questions go without need for saying.  _ Why even? What are you doing up this late? _

Radar’s done more than enough waking Nurm up like this. The least he can do is try to make things easier for both of them by way of communication, but the words aren’t quick to come. Bilingualism is entirely necessary for diplomacy and dealings with nearby villages, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it’s  _ easy _ when his mind’s going a million miles a minute for multiple reasons. 

“I- ah, words, words- ah! _Gnihtyna, senuta tuoba gnihtemos deen!_ _Em pleh uoy na?”_

Simple and to the point. He needs to learn about Atunes, just as Invisibility ordered. Radar’s sure to make his tone dramatic despite numerous hesitations in his phrasing, withhold the need to say that it’s an emergency. 

Nurm contemplates for a moment. He sighs, though, giving into Radar’s apparent needs. A sleeved arm is set over Radar’s shoulders, guiding him into the dry warmth of the Adventure Emporium. 

* * *

Through the graceful lighting of candles, the Adventure Emporium is filled with a golden glow. Night thunder is muted within the hull of the emporium. Its safe, infinitely more peaceful than the flashing night occupying the rest of Bad Luck Alley. 

Nurm sees it fit to treat Radar while he’s here. The emporium’s glow is made all the warmer with a fireplace lit in the living area, quickly igniting with the toss of a match from Nurm’s hand. Radar’s soaked jacket is likewise handed off to be hung from the mantle. Icy droplets turn amber in the face of the flames, leaving speckles in the carpet as they fall. 

“Thank you- really! I can’t begin to thank you enough.” Despite his dampened shirt, comfortability sinks in as he weaves through the emporium's various display cases. Warm and welcoming, the emporium feels like a second home. Though late, this is far from his first visit; the emporium is a safe haven when work threatens to eat him alive, beaten back by the wonders of numerous displays, switched out for a new rotation almost every time he visits. 

It helps that visits have sizable stints between them, but that makes new ventures all the more tempting. 

Each display’s engravement is scanned thoroughly, but the lot of them are regarding ancient weapons or old armor bits this time around. He can’t imagine that stopping Fire Aspect, or helping her, or  _ whatever,  _ is as simple as swinging a sword. 

_ Atunes, atunes, something about atunes….  _ Was that even right? Invisibility only told him to scour the shop, that’s- Vague. too vague, but all he’s got. 

Jesse could have picked up more pieces with this. Twice as many by now, really. 

Nurm stands a short ways away observing Radar’s pacing with a neutral look., Nurm looks him up and down sharply. “Senuta tuoba gnihtemos, nyeh?”    
  
Instinctively, the response is mirrored. “Nyeh- yeah. Something about atunes. I promise it’s important.”    
  
Better subtle than sorry- Nurm’s never seemed like the type to tattle, nor to be pulled into grand adventures and mysteries without Jack taking him there. Thankfully, he seems as passive as ever, nodding nonchalantly. He motions Radar closer to the living area. It's comfortable, resembling a smaller version of the Temple’s own living room. Two recliners with a carpet lain between them, bookcases filled to the brim with stories lining the back wall, both adjacent to a crackling fireplace. 

To the left of the comfy spot, however, is another display. A lectern set on a risen platform, nestled in an annex of stone brick walls. The lectern itself is draped with flags of strange symbols. The book resting upon it is thick, leather cover stitched from various animal hides, bindings thick to accommodate the many pages within. 

With a push from Nurm at the shoulder, Radar steps towards the book. Nurm offers a small nod and smile before turning through a doorway on the far side of the living space, presumably to return in due time. 

Like touching glass, Radar’s fingers skim the engraving at the lectern’s top. 

_ Atunata Infinium Ria.  _

A chill runs down his spine with the next muffled clap of thunder. Radar glances to the window in time for a white flash to briefly overtake the shop. 

Nailed into the lectern’s corner is a metal engravement that catches Radar’s eye, his short figure straining to lean close enough to read. The words of the display are faded, but distinct enough to disconcern in the firelight. 

_ Retrieved from the Library of Wonders, burned by the Agni-Baal in era 1. A.I.R. is the only known book of its kind regarding the ancient enigma of Atunes.  _

The growl of Invisibility echoes in the far-off alleys. This is it. This  _ has  _ to be it. 

_ Atunata Infinium Ria’s _ cover is touched like the snout of a beast. Its cover is just as unruly as one, leathery with its various seals and stitches reminding Radar of scales. Its cover creaks as the tome is opened with thin, cold fingers. Faded ink fills its first page, text visibly ancient in its quality and style. It's a cover page; scratchily drawn monsters dance as its edges, many with multiple heads or arms and most bearing sharp teeth. 

Fusions. 

The title page functions as its table of contents, several numbers and titles stacked on one another in a tower of text.  _ History, Elements, Greater Fusions, Spirits.  _ Topics dabble into more troubling territory as the base of the table is gradually approached.  _ Weaponry, Atunes in War, Monstrous forms-  _

The last title makes touching the page feel like the sting of hot metal. 

_ Afflictions.  _

_This is it,_ instinct cries out. He hastily turns to the corresponding page number, flipping through dozens of sketches and neatly written summaries that would stop him dead in his tracks on any other night. Not tonight. He’s on a _mission._

Radar’s lips echo the first words he finds in the thick chapter, studying the page intensely _.  _

**_Magiburn:_ ** _ This affliction often results from overuse of a fusion's abilities, or overuse of fusion itself. The affected fusion is unable to conjure their elemental power… _

_ Contraction- Overuse of Power  _

_ Cure- Rest _

Just above the summary is the sketch of an ogre-like fusion bent on its knees, a strained look on its cyclops face. It reminds Radar of one of Axel’s fusions when he’d overestimated himself during training, unable to summon more fire charges after a taxing barrage. 

Still, it’s not what he’s looking for. Fire Aspect showed no sign of burning out. Radar moves on. 

The next afflictions fill two pages, mirrored images resembling one another. 

**_Dragonroots:_ ** _ Victims of this affliction find the spaces between their limbs to be filled with wing-like webbing. Their moods become vicious, overcome with the desire to consume precious metals and attack foes and friends alike in bursts of violence….  _

_ Contraction- Wyvern meat  _

_ Cure- Wyvern spit _

**_Fairyroots:_ ** _ Delicate, sensitive webbing is strung between victim's limbs. The size of their Fusion changes, resulting in much smaller forms. Painful rashes that take the form of runes appear over the victim's body….  _

_ Contraction- The spores of Auric mushrooms.  _

_ Cure- Orally consumed Everflow Pond lilies. _

Descriptions are matched with images, each perfectly resembling the afflictions. The fusions in question, one four-armed and one two-armed, look deeply uncomfortable, grimacing in pain and gawking at their runes or the new flesh between their limbs. 

The description of Dragonroots is enough for Radar’s heart to skip a beat, but last he checked, Fire Aspect didn’t have any wings. As tempting as the rest of the page is, filled with intricate description and detail, Radar moves on. It’s still not what he’s looking for. 

The next page is turned with urgency. 

**_Crystal Mold:_ ** _ Fusions with this affliction experience crystalline growths in their back and shoulders. These structures are highly painful to the touch, varying in size and color, and change in size and shape per every fusion- _

_ Contraction- Gemheart Caves  _

_ Cure: None. Chronic. Kills atunes.  _

Radar inhales sharply, flinching away. The image that comes with this one is too unruly, the drawn fusion crying out in pain as crystals sprout from its back like cordyceps. 

Fusion diseases were something sparsely talked about within the Order, mostly by Ivor, and now he’s beginning to understand why these things are so rarely mentioned. If a fusion can experience  _ this  _ from one little mistake, then… 

With a drop of Radar’s heart, the ancient book’s pages receive a violent flip. Outside, rain falls harder. 

It can’t get worse. Can it? 

**_Blackwater:_ ** _ This affliction shifts the form of a fusion, converting much of its body into a black tar-like substance which clings to the bones and burns the flesh of atunes who touch it-  _

_ Contraction; Cursed Waters of the Whispering Mountain  _ _   
_ _ Cure; None, Chronic.  _

Blackwater receives the same treatment as crystal mold. Before his terrified gaze can land on any sketches, the page is flipped, two more skipped in the process. 

**_Boulderbound:_** _Victims are drawn to isolate themselves as their joints fuse, limbs locked, unable to move and often succumbing to thirst and starvation-_

_ Kills atunes.  _

Nope. 

**_Iceborn:_ ** _ Victim’s bodies are frozen solid if not submerged in magma at all times-  _ _   
_ _ Kills atunes _

NOPE. 

**_Toothcurse-_ **

**_Mouthsplit-_ **

**_Flakeflesh-_ **

**_Blood Burrowers-_ **

Despite Radar’s best efforts, his eyes no longer evade the graphic drawings. His gaze darts rapidly over the pages, flipping over and over, phantom pains of afflictions locking his limbs and seizing in his back where cold feelings tingle with the images of crystal mold and toothcurse. 

At flakeflesh, his skin feels dry. It takes everything in him not to scratch impulsively at his arms. Instead, one of his sleeves is tugged roughly. 

Breath so quick that his lungs strain, the frantic search continues. 

_ Chronic, chronic, chronic. No cure, no cure, no cure. kills atunes, kills atunes, kills atunes- _

  
Pages flip as if wind flies through them. A dark image pique’s Radar’s sight, prompting him to slam an open palm onto the book, trapping the image. The pages settle to their natural, gently curved positions where they bloom from the spine. 

This page? This one is pulled straight, Radar frozen as every one of its words strikes him like the prick of needles. Hair on his neck and arms raises. 

**Dark Ironwyrm**

_ This parasitic Affliction strictly inflicts its suffering onto Fire-based fusions. It burrows into the belly of the fusion of which it forms into its den. Here, it will gradually corrupt its host, harboring cravings for nourishing metals, boosting its growth. With the presence of the Dark Ironworm, fusions go mad with hunger, stopping at nothing to consume what they seek. Fusions infected with the Ironwyrm will experience dramatic changes in personality, negative attributes accentuated. This is beyond the Fusion's control. _

Below the first paragraph is a drawn image of the chilling parasite. Fittingly for its name, it resembles some kind of leech, entire body armor-plated and mouth filled with rows of razor sharp teeth. A glow emanates deep in its maw. 

Lower on the page is the sketch of a male fire fusion, burning what appears to be a dining hall with furious pyromancy.

_ The Ironworm acts quickly, ripping apart its victims from the inside in a matter of hours,  _ **_if_ ** _ it is provided with enough metal. Left untreated, an Ironwyrm  _ **_will_ ** _ bring the death of a fusion and its atunes.  _ **_It is a most unfortunate fate for any mortal being to suffer._ **

_ Contraction- Unknown. _

_ Cure- Forced Removal. May kill atunes.  _

**_Best Solution_ ** _ \- This affliction causes its victims to become excessively violent and ignorant to the limits of their own strength. To intervene is to dance with death; ironwyrms are defensive of their prey.  _

_ Never engage the afflicted. The best hope for peace is to  _ **_Cull._ **

**_Kills atunes._ **

No- 

The words are as sharp as claws, ripping into him with bewildering accuracy. Everything, every bit and detail, describes Fire Aspect, from her cruelty to her viciousness. ‘Cull’ rings in his head with the volume of a belltower. 

And if this is in her- That would mean-

_ Ivor. Petra. Fire Aspect. No more. Gone. Ripped apart. _ ****

**_Dead._ **

Killed not at the sword, but at the maw of a monster more terrible than Aspect herself, something angrier and greedier than she could ever be, devouring her heart and soul. It’s  _ not her-  _ It was  _ never  _ her. Not fully. Here they were, the Order of the Stone, so sure this was simply one of her off days, where the impulses were too much for her to bear. Here  _ Radar  _ was, so thoroughly furious as to seek revenge on the victim of affliction. 

No. This- This changes  _ everything.  _

His heart’s pumping so hard it feels ready to burst from his chest, or maybe shrivel up in a violent heart attack, as he backs down from the steps of the lectern. He finds himself drenched in firelight, soaked in its heat. 

He’s forced to ask himself again if it was really Aspect in that arena, the day he was alone. How would the Ironwyrm know such insecurities? Did it force her to prey on those feelings, on  _ him,  _ when she could have just thrown him aside like the toy he was and rushed to eat the sword? 

She  _ could have,  _ if she really wanted to. But no. She chose to fight. Fire Aspect always chooses to fight. 

Fire Aspect is a victim as much as she is a monster of her own making. So what does that make  _ him?  _ Who is he, in Fire Aspect’s story? 

_ Is he a monster for holding the sword for her to fall on? Does it even matter?  _ How much would it even matter when Fire Aspect’s clock is ticking down? The Order’s always been lucky, but their luck could run out any day, any moment, any hour, and time isn’t on their side by any means. They could lose Ivor, Petra,  _ both,  _ not to mention- 

_ Her.  _

Radar can’t imagine a world without them. He doesn’t  _ want  _ to imagine it, not when the mere idea of it makes his chest ache and heart race. 

Frozen fingers dig into his hair, desperate for something to grab, something sensitive and real, to ground himself. It doesn’t work. From head to toe, he feels like the only person left in Beacontown. 

Radar squawks something that’ll be  _ heard  _ to the only other person in the Emporium that matters. The other  _ two,  _ if Jack is even here. 

" _ DEKCUF ER'YEHT!”  _ The words, curses in a language not belonging to him, break and distort like rotting leather. _ “DEKCUF OS ER'YEHT!” _

The next words are far quieter, muted by the rush of footsteps in the other room. Radar’s arms fall, shielding himself as he whispers another distorted mantra, pacing to and fro across the carpet. “ _ Enola siht od t'nac _ ,  _ t’nac t’nac t’nac-” _

Distorted words come uncomfortably as they click from his tongue.  _ Gods, he can’t do this alone.  _

He’s sick and tired of being the only one lost in the shadows of giants, some of which are bigger than others, for too many different reasons to count or even process without suffering a meltdown. 

Finally the help arrives. 

"Radar!” Nurm rushes in, pushing past the door frame. Jack appears by his side, one eye still blinking sleep away, the other socket vacant and uncovered. 

“The kid...? What’s he-”

“ _ Neh, neh- _ ” Nurm swats at the adventurer’s thick arm, pushing him back into the other room. “Enim.” 

Jack, likely woken by Radar’s outcries but too tired to care, submits, slumping against the doorframe. “Alright, fine. The kid’s all yours.” He lumbers out of sight. 

Free for the taking, Radar’s shoulders are grabbed, stopping him in his panicked tracks. Nurm doesn’t hold tight, but the grip is more than enough to be grounded on, Nurm’s brows raised in shock as he glances him up and down for injury. " _ Denepah _ s'tahw?”

_ What's happened?  _ Oh, if only he knew.

“ _ Nothing. _ ” The lie falls flat like a baby bird from its nest. Radar tries to push away. “It’s- I got what I needed, and I- I need to go!” 

Nurm looks at him doubtfully, shaking his head as he points to the still-healing burns on Radar’s chin. 

“It’s not important, I-” But it  _ is  _ important. To Nurm, right now, it might be the most important thing in the world. 

A bottle swirling with pink shimmers is shoved into Radar’s hands. The presence of a healing potion is an easy reminder of the fresh ache in his chest, and how the ringing in his head may not just be from all the information that’s just been shoved in there. The next look given by Nurm is its own reminder that he probably won’t be going anywhere until the bottle is empty. 

Unsure whether or not he’s taken one today, the potion is downed anyway. Nurm’s look settles when one last droplet is sheepishly licked from the mouth of the vial. 

Times like these make it much, much easier for the medicine to go down. Though the potion’s effects are gradual, placebo takes hold, unraveling a knot in Radar’s chest. Nurm picks up on it, his shoulders relaxing in turn and tight grip releasing. 

Nurm smiles. The cartographer reaches into his robe pocket, four-fingered hand reemerging with some kind of orb. Blinking, Radar recognizes it as an enderpearl. 

A parting gift. 

“Oh.” Radar takes it, holding it with similarly spaced-out fingers as the sphere is rolled into his hand, greenish-blue core as murky as the depths of the sea. “Uhm- Thank you.  _ yr’os _ . I’m sorry about all thi-” 

Before Nurm can offer reassurances, there’s a shout upstairs. Both of their heads turn. 

“NURM!” Jack cries, words muffled by the wind and rain. He’s out on the roof. “ _ You might wanna come see this! _ ”

For half a second, Radar and Nurm lock eyes. 

They leap into motion, Nurm moving first through the living-area door and Radar following as closely behind as a duckling, through the bedroom and up the ladder onto the deck. 

* * *

Freezing wind and rain pelts Radar’s face like hail. The storm had grown worse, sails of the adventure emporium flapping like leathery dragon’s wings, the same violent winds ruffling Radar’s hair. There’s no time to smooth it down, Nurm grabbing his elbow, pulling Radar into the storm. 

As he climbs up, blood colored wings flap desperately above them. Scarlet macaws shriek as they flee, swooping under the sails of the Emporium and into the outskirts of the city. They have more to flee from than the storm. 

The scent of smoke hangs in the air. 

Nurm tugs at his shoulder sleeve, near-dragging him to another ladder that hangs from the mast. Jack is already making his way up, rushing to pull himself into the crow’s nest. Nurm urges Radar up the ladder before snagging the rungs himself. Battered by the rain, they’re slower to catch up. 

Horrified hearts crowd the nest. With a short grunt, Radar squeezes himself between Jack and Nurm, looking out onto the city through glasses speckled with droplets. The obscurities are anxiously wiped away at the bottom of Radar’s shirt, still damp from before, and all he can see are smears of light and color. 

Jack and Nurm are silent. Harsh winds greedily swallow their labored breath. 

Radar’s own breath slows. Glasses equipt, he grips the nest’s edge, soaking in the image of the city that lies before him like a wounded beast. 

Beacontown is burning. 

Its  _ heart  _ is burning. Homes and buildings at the town’s center, not far from the Temple, are consumed in glaring flames, unrelenting in the night’s rains. Half of the market stalls burn viciously, houses not far from them caught in the crossfire, flames ripping through them like silverfish through stone. Support beams buckle as embers devour them like termites. 

_ It can’t be her. It’s not. It’s not, it can’t- she wouldn’t-  _

Radar wants to say something, predict that this was the work of a lightning strike or that they should go help. Jack rests a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. There’s another flash from the storm, confined to the clouds above. No matter how much stands between the different forces of nature, the roar of thunder and flame is deafening. 

But something else is louder. 

A figure moves through the raging orange glow, towering over all the other townspeople crying out in fear as they flee from the flames. The figure ignores them, limbs swaying as it bursts from behind a burning market stall on all sixes, snarling at the guards that threaten it with their blades. 

Fire Aspect. 

Nurm turns, half of his face blackened by the contrasting shadows of the blaze. The look he wears is one of burdened horror- he knows. He knows, whatever Radar read in that book, whatever wounds he’s suffering, it has something to do with the dragon’s fury at the heart of Beacontown. 

Fire Aspect snaps at the guards that surround her, snarling something fierce as flames flicker around her teeth. She shoots a blast of flame, catching one of the guards on fire, sending the man tumbling. He’s lucky enough only to be ignited for a moment, rolling into one of the deeper puddles on the main street. To the other guards she offers excess rage, swiping at them with clawed fingers. She catches another man by the nape, sending him flying full force into a curb. 

The remaining men scatter as Fire Aspect ignites again, stripes glowing bright as she shoots a wider arc of flame into her enemies. She thankfully misses, but that only makes the fusion angrier, shaking her head and snarling, powerful muscles swaying. 

Another voice rises on the wind. Its distantly familiar, so consumed with anger and determination that it almost sounds like that of a stranger.

“Get her out of there NOW!”

Radar pinpoints it. Lukas stands at the step of the beacon altar, pillar lights dimmer than ever in the storm. The archer balances something on the quartz stairs, fingers rushing to find their place as his gaze darts between Fire Aspect and his weapon. 

Aspect, luckily, is distracted. Another familiar battle cry- Axel -breaks out against the thunder as he charges her with a warhammer, squared with a head of iron and bronze. A perfect hit slams into her jaw, knocking her back completely, balance lost as she stumbles into the street. Axel aims another hit, but Aspect rolls out of the way just in time. His hammer strikes the pavement with a loud  _ crack!  _

Regaining her balance, Fire Aspect spits something hot and bloody onto the ground. Damaged teeth. The loss doesn’t diminish the weight of her threatening snarl, lips pulled back as she prepares to coat him in oily flame. 

Her shot is interrupted by an arrow strike to the shoulder. Aspect cries out, lurching to the side and stumbling once more. Her attention turns immediately to the source; Olivia, on the jungle bridge, enchanted bow in hand. 

The monster glances between Axel and Olivia as they prepare their attacks. Axel misses another swing of his hammer as Aspect darts forward, rushing on her hands and feet like a wolf towards the bases of the bridge. The trees that support it are pillars of fire, wood popping and splintering as the flames work their way deeper. Axel follows the beast in pursuit, holding the warhammer over his shoulder, ready to strike. 

Fire Aspect was always clever like that, turning her enemies into her weapons. Lukas is thinking the same thing Radar is, shouting above the storm again.

“AXEL, SHE’S LEADING YOU ON!” 

Axel realizes too late, slamming his hammer into the base of the burning tree in an attempt to hit Aspect again. She slinks out of reach, distancing herself from Axel with the burning trunk between them. 

The tree shudders at the hit. Sparks rain down like pollen. Timber snaps, the jungle tree twisting at the base, distorting the bridge as it topples. The bridge snaps, pulled apart by the weight of the burning log that slams down into the street, sparking a wall of fire between Axel and Aspect. 

With him out of the way, the fusion looks to Olivia, struggling to stay balanced on the half of the bridge that remains, caught between a fall and a wall of fire as the remaining tree persists to be consumed in flame. Determined as ever, though, Olivia pulls back another arrow as Fire Aspect scampers to the other tree, lining up her shot to match Aspect’s speed. 

The arrow flies. The hit lands on target, piercing the fusion’s back, square between the shoulders. Fire Aspect cries out with a vicious noise, collapsing as her arms seize. 

More of the bridge begins to break away. Planks fall to the ground, thudding onto the wet street. Olivia’s back faces dangerously close to the flames. 

_ Jesse, Jesse! Where’s Jesse?  _

Something too large to be a bird or a phantom flies through the night, swooping for the bridge. Jesse, elytra spread like eagle’s wings, snags Olivia by the arms, yanking her from the fray just as the bridge fully collapses, inflamed timber littering the streets. Weighed down, Jesse harshly places Olivia at the edge of an untouched building with enough momentum to swoop back around, narrowly slipping underneath the final falling tree as it bows, slamming into a building. 

Jesse doesn’t lose her target. Shakily, Fire Aspect stands up, just in time for Jesse to emerge from the smoke. The leader of the Order of the Stone slams into her, knocking the fusion back to the ground, pushing her against the flaming trunk of the first fallen tree. Jesse sits on top of her, trying to hold her down with one hand as the other reaches for the hilt of an enchanted sword. 

The fusion is quicker in wits and reflexes. Her knee pulls up, knocking Jesse back with a blow to the belly, then knocking her back even farther with another blow to the chest. 

Flames wisp around Aspect like leeches to blood. She accepts them, a pelt of fire growing over Aspect’s robes and stripes as she stands once again, towering over Jesse and opening her jaws to unleash a furious roar. Fire Aspect’s fingers pull apart, claws tipped with licking flame. 

Jesse pushes herself up on one knee, hand still to the hilt of her blade. The noise she makes falls deaf, lost in the roar of flame and storm, but her lips are unmistakably pulled into a growl. 

Fire Aspect lashes at Jesse, the first hit luckily dodged as Jesse ducks, moving quickly on her feet to flank Aspect’s huge form. Aspect lunges again, misses again, flaming claws sweeping nothing but air. 

Jesse strikes out with her own claws, enchanted sword carving a deep cut into the monster’s hip. She yowls, leaping to the side, shrinking to all sixes and once again raising her lips defensively as Jesse waves her blade tauntingly. 

Jesse raises her sword, about to strike, as something emerges from the flames of the burning log. Axel rolls onto the ground, hammer in hand, at Fire Aspect’s other side. Fire eats at his back, but his armor holds its line, resistant to even the most fiery blasts that Boomtown has to offer. His hammer slams into Fire Aspect’s undefended side, striking her clean in the elbow of her lower arm. A loud  _ snap  _ echoes across the square. 

Fire Aspect  _ screams.  _

Reduced to three arms, she limps, holding the injured limb over her belly. As Axel and Jesse square in, she pushes up against the burning log, letting the flames overtake her. 

Axel and Jesse make the mistake of underestimating a cornered beast. 

With blinding speed, Fire Aspect lunges for Axel first. She grabs him by the arm with burning claws, pulling him from his feet and swinging him at full force into Jesse. They both cry out as they’re rammed into the burning log, Jesse crushed between Axel and the flames. Axel’s head hits a burned tree limb. He slumps, unconscious, as Jesse struggles between him and the wall of solid fire. 

Radar grips the edge of the crow’s nest tighter, leaning out. “ _ JESSE!” _

It goes unheard. 

Fire Aspect stands. Claws unsheathed, she’s prepared to close in, ready to make her kill, when a different shout piques her interest. 

“HEY  _ LIZARDBREATH! _ OVER HERE!” 

Lukas, all the way down at the beacons, stands tall. His weapon is finally ready, long barrel in hand with his fingers at the trigger. 

Radar recognizes it as Lukas’s prototype musket. The first of its kind, a firearm with the accuracy of a crossbow and the force of TNT. As far as Radar knows, it has yet to see true battle. 

Until tonight. Lukas aims high, leaning to look down the barrel. “COME GET SOME!” 

The more prey, the marrier. Fire Aspect complies.

The beast leaps over the log, renewing the flames of her claws. She bolts down beacontown’s main street like a lion on the chase, her pelt of fire flowing, claws glowing brighter with every step. Her prey so close, Fire Aspect howls in glee. 

Lukas pulls the trigger. 

Nothing. 

Panic grows in Lukas’s eyes. He slams the edge of his palm on the base of the firearm, shaking it before pulling the trigger again.    
  
“ _ C’mon, c’mon, c’mon c’mon- _ ”

Nothing again. Fire Aspect charges closer, dangerously close, locked on to her prey. 

Radar’s heart pumps like the pitters of the rain. 

“ _ C’MON!”  _ Lukas is the one to say it as Fire Aspect leaps for him, claws ignited, teeth bared, ready to pin the hero that taunts her. She hunts to kill. 

A bright flash overtakes predator and prey. A sound unlike any other echoes over Beacontown, flowing beneath thunder but rising above the roar of flame. White smoke bursts from the firearm with its first bullet, exploding into its target. 

Fire Aspect doesn’t stop. She rams into Lukas, knocking him back with burning claws. The gun is left behind as he’s sent flying, rolling once on the wet pavement. He doesn’t get back up. 

Unexpectedly, Fire Aspect lurches for the gun first, snatching the still-smoking weapon from the ground. The barrel meets her maw. She bites down with broken teeth, snapping it, melting with a short burst of fire in her throat, devouring it just like metal rods from the armory. Hunched over, Fire Aspect devours whatever bits of metal she can find in the weapon, nipping it apart like a bird scavenging for insects. 

The night’s storm lessens, rains slowing to a steady downpour. Winds quiet at last. 

As Fire Aspect is lost in distraction, consuming her ‘meal’, a new figure appears on Beacontown’s road. Radar’s breath catches in his throat. 

It’s not Jesse. 

The figure walks slowly through the world burning around them. Another building, its supports chewed up by insect-like embers, bends, collapsing in a burst of fire. The figure doesn’t hesitate. They keep walking, a crossbow held at their hip. Though subdued, a click of heels echoes down the road. The figure brushes her long hair aside as she reaches Fire Aspect, standing a respectful distance from the monster. She cocks her head, leaning to the side with an eyebrow raised. 

“Well, well, well…” Her voice carries sass. “Look at what we have here. I see you’ve been... busy, tonight.” 

Fire Aspect drops the gun, little remaining but its smoking wooden frame, scraped like a bone in the mouth of a wolf. A growl resonates deep in the fusion’s throat as she turns slowly, prowling on her hands and feet. Claws scrape the pavement. All but that of her injured arm, nestled up to her body like a broken wing. 

" **Stella…** ” Fire Aspect rumbles. Radar doesn’t remember her voice being that deep. Wouldn’t he know? Or is it just another distortion brought by fear? “ **Another worthless wretch who kept the sword from it’s rightful owner.”**

Fire Aspect’s obsessions persist. It’s never about the outcomes of the past, the pain or consequences, only the things she wanted that were never reached. The fusion limps closer with new prey in mind, but her mannerisms are no longer that of a predator, lumbering and hesitant. Fire Aspect faces Stella, front exposed. 

Radar’s jaw drops. 

A wound gapes in the fusion’s gut, on the right side just above her hip. It pulses, dripping a river of blood, heart of the injury wider than the head of a mace. 

That would explain the limping and the heaving. 

"He missed your heart. What a shame.” Stella shakes her head in disappointment. “Well… Actually, I'd be surprised if you had one."

Fire Aspect slumps onto her knees. She ignores the observant comment in favor of more insults. Claws doused, she slices deep with well-chosen words. Her head cocks to the side, twitching as the words flow from her maw like magma, pupils constricted. 

**“How does it feel to watch your city burn again? You got everything you deserved- to be the lowest of the low, filing meaningless papers through the night just like that pathetic intern!** _ "  _

At the mention of his title, Radar’s anger surges, only slowed by Nurm’s hand joining Jack’s on his shoulder. 

Though Stella reacts little, fire glows in her eyes. 

“Darling, you tried to kill the boy.” 

“ **It’s what he deserved for getting in my way. He didn’t listen.** ” The monster coughs, heaving pathetically. “ **It’s what they all deserve.** ”

“Hm.” Stella taps her foot, expression bored. Pensive, the way she always gets when the strings of plans are spun in her mind. “I guess that settles it, then.” 

Her adversary paws one step closer. “ **What do you want, Stella?** ”    
  
“Simple.” Stella strugs. Her crossbow is pulled up, sights pointed to Fire Aspect’s smouldering heart. The weapon’s wooden frame is darkened in the rain, brightening a glow of enchantment. In a flash of lightning, polished metal glows yellow, lined with gold. 

“I’m here to put a sick animal out of its misery.” 

The head of the beast hangs low, too exhausted to stare her prey in the eye. Thunder calms, sky falling silent. 

No shot rings out. The only indication of crossbow fire is the jerk of Fire Aspect’s body, half a growl rumbling. Slumping to the ground, clawed fingers tremble, reaching for her chest before falling limp. 

Stella lowers her crossbow, tip smoking. 

Silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2! This one is a bit shorter, but I hope you all enjoyed it~ And finally, Fire Aspect makes her true debut!
> 
> I slipped plenty of references into this one, so brownie points to whoever finds those. Please comment down below with feedback, if you have any, and thank you for reading!


End file.
